


A Map to Eternity

by JustAboutMidnight



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Love at First Sight, Mistaken Identity, Outdoor Sex, Rare pairing hell, Semi-Public Sex, True Love, just all the romantic scandalous sex, passionate smut, passionate smut everywhere, unexpected love affair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAboutMidnight/pseuds/JustAboutMidnight
Summary: Robbed on the Riddermark and left for dead, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth is mistaken for an unfortunate peasant girl and taken anonymously to Edoras. Through a series of misunderstandings, she ends up in the harem of the Rohirrim, and embarks on a passionate love affair with the King— who has no idea that she is Imrahil's daughter.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Comments: 49
Kudos: 65





	1. Over the Hills and Far Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firelilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelilly/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a fun story with lots of sex and dramatic romance. If that's your bag, welcome. If it's not, I hope you'll give it a chance, but approach with caution! You've been warned.

“Make haste,” I muttered to myself. “Hurry, hurry…” 

As always seems to happen when one is in earnest, the simplest of tasks had become impossible, and I nearly upset the inkwell all over the desk in opening the drawers.

_Tap, tap, tap._

I swore and bent farther over the files, my eyes skating over label after label. Where was it? I was sure I had put it back, but I hadn’t bothered to check the night before, and now I was at a loss.

“Lady Lothíriel! Are you there?”

I pulled the files from the drawer completely, getting desperate. “What is it?”

“Your father bids you make haste,” called the servant, sounding uncomfortable. “The party has finished packing.”

“I’ll be down in just a moment!” I called back, and snatched up the green page that had fallen down the side of the drawer. _Finally!_

I heard some hesitation on the other side of the door, but a moment later his footsteps were pacing away, and I could breathe somewhat freer. Of course, if he had gone, that probably meant that one or all of my brothers were close behind him. This was temporary respite.

I spread out the map on my father’s desk, smoothing out the creases. The Riddermark had been reduced to a rectangle of green and brown about the length of my forearm— a travel map. I found our destination easily: Edoras was hard to miss, built into the side of the mountains. I planted my finger on it and traced with my eyes the path we would take. In preparation for the journey I had been reading up on which constellations shone brightest over the plains, and I was eager to see if their movements would line up with our northward progress the way I expected. 

I glanced at the library door. This map was not one that I thought my father would readily allow me to take from his collection; but if I did not ask, the chance of him noticing its absence was very slim.

I lit a candle and waited impatiently for it to melt, fidgeting and cursing myself for not doing this the night before. I’d waited until the very morning of departure to scramble about, and now I was paying the price.

I poured the seal and waited for it to set, cleaning my ring on my skirt. If I was to smuggle the Mark out of Dol Amroth, better it was smuggled in an envelope with my seal on it, disguised as a personal letter. With any luck, my father would only consult his large maps to trace our journey.

The wax had become shiny, so I scooped up my other books with one hand and pressed my ring to the seal with the other. No sooner had the wax hardened than came the sharp sound of footsteps down the hall, and I grabbed the envelope and shoved it into my bodice.

“Lothíriel!”

The door swung wide open, and I saw that my brothers had hung back in deference to my father. He strode into the room, his eyes sweeping the scene.

“What in Anárion’s name are you doing?”

“Forgive me, my lord,” I said, hoping that I didn’t look too guilty. “I forgot some of my books for the journey.”

“You are holding up your own escort,” he scolded, moving to the tall north windows. “We ought to make haste down to the field.”

I said nothing, flattening the map under my gown with a nervous hand. When he turned back from the window his eyes fell to my face, and softened.

“You look a bit flushed, child. Do you feel alright?”

“Yes, my lord. It is the warm weather.”

Perhaps he could sense the lie, for he raised a hand and patted my cheek. 

“It is normal to feel nervous, Lothíriel. Would you like me to send for some tea before you go?”

“No, thank you. I’m alright.”

“Very well,” he said, and patted my cheek again. “Remember, it is only a court presentation— fret not. If you don’t care for the suitors, write to me and I will bring you home.”

I glanced at him doubtfully. “You have been friends with the men of Rohan. Do you expect me to find them so unappealing?”

“No. But they can be a bit more… raucous than you may be used to.”

“You are generous, my lord,” I said, and meant it. “I will write either way, and if the men be animals, I shall send for my brothers and introduce them.”

“And mind that tongue,” he said at once.

“Yes, Lord father.”

The walk down to the field was swift, and it seemed that in only minutes, I had been settled onto my horse with my retinue around me. Cerdic, my father’s manservant and my current escort, was the last to bid the prince farewell.

“Watch over her.”

“Of course, my lord,” he bowed. “I will send word as soon as we have arrived in Edoras.”

He swung up onto his horse, and a wind blew in off the water. It lifted my hair from my shoulders and chased a smile to my lips. It ought to have been a somber occasion, with my father and Cerdic conversing lowly, and Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos shoving each other about, trying not to go soft for my departure; but I couldn’t help it. The promise of the journey across the plains through the free open air was too delightful a prospect to contemplate soberly.

“Go well, ’Riel,” my father said, catching my hand in his own. “May you prosper, my daughter.”

“Thank you, father,” I murmured, and smiled down at him from my mount. He smiled back, and I was startled to see a sheen across his eyes. I gave his fingers a squeeze, and then Cerdic was clicking his tongue— the riders dug their heels into their horses, and the colorguard stepped off.

I raised a hand to my brothers and then took my own reins. “Farewell, my lord. I will write. I promise.”

He nodded, smiling still despite his misty eyes. “Farewell.”

And then I was turning and the hoofbeats were increasing, and then Dol Amroth was at my back. I could feel the paper against my skin that mapped out the ground below my feet, and the wind was strong; and for the next hour I knew nothing but the exhilaration of the wide blue sky.

* * *

Despite my love of riding, I was neither gifted nor practiced, and several days in the saddle sobered me considerably. The early hours were long and windswept under the sun, and the nights were still cold enough that I had to wrap myself in furs. I certainly hoped that I would be afforded a bath before stepping in front of the court of Rohan, for in my present state I would discredit the beauty of Gondorian women.

The seventh day found us passing through the hills into Rohan— the tenth, and we were drawing near to Edoras. The closer we became, the looser the party grew, and whatever ale had not been consumed within the week was in dire peril our last night on the Mark.

I was seated near the fire, attempting to read, but the drunker my comrades became, the harder it was to focus. When the first notes of a drinking song drifted out over the fire, I knew my effort was at an end.

I closed the book and sighed, running my hand over the cover. A white horse reared there, the green behind him like the endless grass of the Mark. It was a book I had read before, on Rohirric culture, and there was hardly anything new I could learn from it— but, then again, that was not my design in reading it. The fact was, I was seeking comfort. I was nervous.

I stared into the fire, barely seeing it, and listened to the singing and hooting around me. My father’s library was extensive, and I was not without imagination. I had spent many afternoons there, and, on several occasions, had ventured in search of the less savory novels. I knew that at twenty, I was considered ripe and ready to be picked, and I knew what my court showing would mean. I was not, by any means, _opposed_ to being picked— but I wanted it to be by the right hand, for the right reasons, and my father’s words had echoed in my head throughout the journey.

_“If you don’t care for the suitors, write to me and I will bring you home. They can be a bit more… raucous than you may be used to.”_

And it was not just my father’s words. I had heard plenty of snobbery in my time, in the corners of parties when no one knew I was listening.

_“Yes, more than four pints… they’re savage there, aren’t they?”_

Was that what I ought to expect? I hoped not. And yet, the books about Rohan that had once been so comforting had begun to dry my mouth with worry. And how long would I stay? What would the king be like? Would I have any suitors at all? I had many questions, and no answers.

The night was growing late, and I gathered up my things to retire. We would have one more day-long ride, and, with fortune, would reach Edoras by the next afternoon. I charted the stars one last time before I entered my tent: they fell on top of the shapes I’d predicted at home, and I smiled.

The Centaur’s eye, twinkling through a gap in the canvas, was the last thing I saw before sleep descended upon me.

The next morning dawned cool and bright, and I was glad to know that it was the last day of travel. The men bore up reasonably well, considering their exploits of the night before, and we were underway before the sun had warmed the horizon.

Indeed, I found myself growing jealous of my escort. We were within a day of the city and they were shamelessly cheery, looking forward to a chance to rest and drink and socialize. No such prospect awaited me, however, and by the time we had stopped for lunch, I was ready to draw out the break as much as possible.

The remainder of the ale was brought forth, as well as bread and cheese and dried fish, and we ate upon a rocky platform above the fields. The day was breezier than ever, and the great hills of the Mark rippled like a green silk.

I brushed the crumbs off my skirts and stared out north for a moment more— and then I rose, making my way over to Cerdic and clutching my waterskin in my hands.

“Lady Lothíriel,” he dipped his chin. “How are you feeling, so near to Edoras?”

In response, I held out the skin, bound after the ale jug in his fist. He laughed uproariously— perhaps a little louder than he normally would have done, had he been sober.

“Only fair, my lady.”

He took the skin from me and filled it. I did not bother capping it right away, but drank first and wiped my chin with my hand. I knew he would not notice the bad manners.

“Will you be able to stay in the saddle, if I let you keep it?”

“Yes, Master Cerdic,” I smiled. “It is only fair, you know, that I help to finish it.”

“Go on, my lady,” he said, taking another bite of his perch, and I wandered off across the plateau.

I spent a moment with my mare, drinking from my prize as I leaned into her neck. My body ached, my legs and hips stiff with riding. Although I had my trepidations about our arrival, one thing I would not refuse was the bed that surely awaited me.

The ale warmed me from the inside, traveling under my skin and easing my thoughts. It was a bit easier now, to contemplate the plains without thinking of the journey’s end result; and suddenly, quite desperately, I wished that the end would never come after all, and that I might be free forever.

I glanced around our camp. Cerdic and I had clearly not been the only members of the party to taste from the ale jug— the sun was bright, and many were dozing, or clustered together for low conversation..

I took a step towards the edge of the plateau, my legs a bit unsteady, and glanced over my shoulder once more. Cerdic had stretched out on his back, his eyes closed.

I took a breath, gathered my skirts, and slipped into the high grass.

At first I was afraid of being spotted and called back— I stood tall for a woman, and my black hair stood out in the field. Gradually, however, the sight of the camp faded behind me, and I began to look forwards rather than backwards.

My legs wobbled and my head felt thick and warm, pleasure thrilling in my veins even as I slipped and stumbled over the plain. I went to drink from my skin again, and, to my surprise, found it empty; this was a disappointment but I disregarded it quickly, slinging it around my waist and turning my focus to the horizon. The western sky was effused with butter-gold light, stretching out over the Riddermark like some heavenly mist, and I felt that this, surely, must be how birds felt when taking flight. I longed to run down the hill, but did not trust my equilibrium to support such an endeavor. As it was, the entire vista seemed woven from daydreams, and I wandered with wide eyes until I felt that I must turn back or fall over.

I had no idea how much time had passed, or how far I had walked, and with an effort I began to worry that I had been missed. If so, perhaps I could feign some kind of heat-sickness to Cerdic and be forgiven— I certainly felt that, at the present moment, it would not be difficult at all.

It was time to resign myself, I thought as I turned my steps east— I would be in Edoras and among her savage men by nightfall. I had felt a fair bit more confident in my life, but perhaps whatever room was given to me would have a window. And, perhaps I would be able to see the starry Centaur in the evenings, hanging in his valor over the Mark, and think of when I had seen him from the plains. And, perhaps—

_THUNK!_

My hand grasped air, my vision popped, and the ground rushed up to meet me.

* * *

When I again became conscious, it was to an oddly familiar rocking.

_Left… right… left… right…_

My head ached fiercely. All around, though somehow muted, were the sounds of a city, and my heart leapt at the thought of Dol Amroth. Something was wrong, though… I could not hear the cries of seabirds, and a strange smell, like the must of a stable, filled the air.

I opened my eyes.

The canvas of a wagon hung above me. My head ached worse than ever with the light, and I was forced to squint. My tongue felt covered in wool. The light, too, was wrong— it was gray light, the light of midmorning, and not the gold of late afternoon. Trying to regain my bearings, I looked down, and saw that— for some reason I could not explain— I was not wearing my dress, but a rough, unfamiliar one. For the first time, I felt a cold jolt of fear.

_What had happened?_

“Are ye awake, lass?”

I nearly jumped up from the pallet I was lying on. The speaker was a middle-aged woman, thin but strong-looking, sitting by the back of the wagon and shelling a basket of nuts. I blinked. I had not expected a complete stranger, and wondered briefly if I’d gone mad.

“Yes, I’m awake.”

I made to sit up and she moved towards me, pushing my shoulder down gently. 

“Easy, child, ye’ve had a bad blow to the head. Do na sit up so fast.”

I did sit, and closed my eyes for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When I opened them again, the rest of my surroundings filtered in: there were sacks of vegetables, nuts, and a narrow bench, all rocking with the progress of the wagon. The woman herself was by my side, peering at me.

“Would ye like a drink?”

I nodded wordlessly, not feeling well enough yet to ask questions. Instead, I sipped the water she gave me, and focused on its wonderful coolness. The fuzz cleared from my throat, and the ache in my head eased.

I passed the skin back, eyeing her warily. “Thank you.”

She nodded, capping it, still examining me.

“Who are you?”

“Anya Leof,” she said. “And you?”

“Riel,” I said, not willing to give my full name just yet. “Where am I?”

“With my husband and me, on the way to Edoras.”

I gaped at her, unable to understand what, exactly, had befallen me.

“I know ye must be confused,” she said, seeing my face. “And I’ll answer your questions, so stay calm, lass. Do ye feel aright? Do ye remember anything?”

“I thought my head was going to split,” I admitted, “but the water has helped. I remember… the Mark…” My head swam, and I gripped my hands together tightly for a moment. 

“Walking,” I said. “On the plains, by myself. And then—”

She nodded. “Bandits. Ye cannot be from here, or ye’d know not to go out on the Mark alone— thieves’ll hide in the grass, and come upon ye when ye least expect it. They’ve even raided our fields a time or two.” She gave me an appraising look, as though she doubted the sanity of a maiden found wandering the Mark on foot. “Looks as though they came on ye from behind, ye must’ve had something they wanted. Were ye carrying any valuables?”

And because my hand had wandered to my hair and come up empty, I found myself saying stupidly, “My pearl hairpin! Where is it?”

Anya nodded gravely. “Pearl hairpin? Ay, that would do it. They probably saw ye glintin’ from a mile away.” She paused. “My nephew found ye on the very edge of the farm last night.”

It was not just the pearl hairpin. My hand flew to my neck, my opposite wrist— the silver and moonstone set I’d been wearing was gone, and so were the sapphire earrings from my previous birthday.

“And my dress?” I croaked, fingers balling in the rough fabric of my skirt.

“I’m afraid they’d taken it right off of ye,” she said, regret in her eyes. “But I do na think your skirts were lifted beyond that— your petticoat was still sittin’ starch-flat, and your garters in place. Do ye ache at all?”

“Only in my head,” I muttered. “Not between the legs.”

“Well, I’m right glad to hear it— ye’ve been lucky. But it’s no fair thing to be out on the Mark without a chaperone, neither.” She nodded to the mouth of the wagon, where the back of a driver was just visible. “Do ye have any relations in Edoras we can take ye to, child? We’ve likely passed through the walls, by now. We’ve got to come for the market today, and we could na very well leave ye at the farm alone.”

“No,” I stammered, “I don’t. I— Well, I—”

For I was beginning to realize that it may not be wise to tell this woman the truth. To her eyes, I was a wantonly, if un-assaulted, girl, smudged with the dirt of the plains and without a dress upon her back. I had already seen the reservation in her eyes, and I feared that if I began claiming identity as the princess of Dol Amroth, she would believe that the blow to my head had scrambled my brains. And so, for the time present, I said nothing. 

“It’s alright if ye’ve no connections,” she soothed. “You’re not the first that we’ve helped. We’ll take ye to Meduseld, ye can get work there. If you’ve anywhere to get back to, ye can make the fare.”

Or, I thought, perhaps I could find someone who would know my father and recognize me for who I was.

“You’ve been very good to me,” I smiled. “Thank you, for all you’ve done.”

Anya nodded, pleased. “Of course, child. Now come sit on the side with me. Ye can have some bread and get the sun on your face.”

It was with resolve, gratitude, and despair that I followed her. My escort must have been mad with worry, and my heart ached for it; not to mention that they would have sent word to my father, and when he received it, he and my brothers would likely think me lost forever. That was, of course, assuming that my company had not been attacked themselves. I remembered with regret the liberal passing of the ale jug, and hoped that my dear drunken countrymen had not been raided for their provisions.

My heart was full of worry as Anya pushed aside the canvas and sat upon the side of the wagon, now swaying as it crawled uphill. I followed, sure I wouldn’t be able to eat at all for my misery; but in spite of myself, my ears were caught in the babble, the bread regained its flavor in my mouth, and I began to look around.

The late-morning sun was rising steadily higher over the city, and the streets were crowded. Ours was far from the only wagon— the procession of farmers heading to market trickled behind and ahead of us. I lifted my eyes towards the mountains and there, in the city’s center, I could make out the glint of a golden roof.

“Meduseld,” said Anya, who was spreading her bread with honey. “Have ye ever seen it before?”

“No,” I murmured. “Only heard of it.”

We continued to climb through the streets, and our progress slowed among market stalls. There were fair-haired people rushing about everywhere, doing their shopping and conversing under booth overhangs. I felt my headache slipping away— the smell of roasting meat and onions was bracing, and the bread had given me some energy. I had survived over a week in the saddle as well as an abduction, so I felt I had a right to be less than blooming; but in spite of myself, I could feel my blood stirring and my body waking back up.

“You’re looking much better,” said Anya, peering at my cheeks. “Your color’s coming back. Still hungry?”

I meant to refuse, but the rumble of my stomach betrayed me.

“A bit,” I confessed.

She smiled. “Here, then—” A second slice was passed to me, this one spread with cheese and honey. “Ye can have a bit more, now that I know ye can keep it down.”

“Thank you very much,” I said, and tried not to snatch it. Now that I was awake, I was realizing I was ravenous.

She seemed reluctant to ask me too many questions, perhaps afraid of the life story I might tell her. As it was, that was alright with me. We ate in silence, the wagon rocking mightily beneath us, and I began to probe my memory.

Oh, what a _fool_ I had been, to go out on the plains alone! No doubt I hadn’t been thinking clearly, my mind swamped with worries and midday ale. I could not bury my face in my hands out of regard for my present company, but the impulse was strong. I balled my fists in my borrowed skirt, instead. _Fool, fool, fool!_ Had I not read about Rohan? I had heard of the thieves that roamed the Mark, but had not given them a single thought before wandering off. And wearing jewels and my riding brocade, too! Had I taken leave of my senses?

If I had, it was my own damn fault, and that was not even the worst of it. Not only had I no jewelry or even clothing, but I’d been found by a farmer’s nephew, unconscious on the edge of a field! _That_ was certainly not a good recommendation for honor, or virtue.

I had been lucky to escape with my life— I knew that. I also knew that the path back to Dol Amroth was becoming hazier and hazier. I had no way to even send a letter.

“I’ve got to put our papers in order,” Anya told me, rising cautiously amidst the wagon’s lurching. “Call if ye feel faint.” 

And she disappeared into the folds of canvas, leaving me to finish my breakfast in glum solitude.

I put my chin in my hand, staring out over the street, the noise fading in my ears. I would just have to try and convince those at Meduseld of who I was, and hope that they believed me. If they didn’t, I would have to try and find some connection in Edoras that could verify my identity. If there were any lords from Dol Amroth here, I was ignorant of it— but it was the only solution I could think of, apart from my father making the long journey to Rohan himself. And, in all likelihood, he would not even know what had happened for another week at least! It would take that long for a messenger to ride back to Dol Amroth, even with extreme haste. Yes, I thought, things looked bad indeed.

The sound of whinnying and hooves on cobblestones did not immediately rouse me. This city was full of horses, and the street was noisy. Instead, it was the sound of a voice that made me raise my head, calling out a command in Rohirric— it was deep, carrying.

It was only then that I saw them, and wondered that I had missed them before: Riders, only a few shop-lengths ahead of us, sitting atop what were clearly warhorses and not cart animals. Around thirty men were milling around the tie-post of a pub, all on horseback, their fair hair hanging down their backs. I had never seen men with such long hair, and was sitting up for a better look when I saw him.

He was tall, his broad shoulders covered in armor, vigor in every line of him. He had turned his horse, and was calling to the other riders. It was the shape of his body and the dark timbre of his voice that had caught my attention; and then, as I watched, he reached up and pulled off his horsetail helm.

My mouth went dry. Sitting as he was in full sunlight, his hair shone gold and fell down in waves, so long that it hung down between his shoulder blades. His face was handsomer than I was prepared for, with a fierce brow and a full mouth. His eyes burned out of his face, intense and searching, the same color as the honey still sticking to my fingers.

I straightened my skirt with fumbling hands, my mind suddenly blank. I simply knew that I wanted to look on him as long as possible, and as we drew nearer I could feel my cheeks heating. I had been among enough drunken men at parties to know what desire was. I heard his voice, and longed for him to say my name— I saw his firm hand upon his horse, the tight reins, and wished it could be me there at the mercy of his strength. 

I could scarcely believe my own thoughts, but they had come so strongly and swiftly I could not deny them. In fact, there was a sudden tenderness in my breasts and a heat between my legs that proved I was not going mad— my body was responding to this stranger in a way that I could not control.

I raised a hand to my mouth with the vague intent to suck off the sweet stickiness there, feeling as though I’d been hit over the head again. I had barely had time to wonder if he would see me, before his head was turning, his gaze sweeping out over his company towards the foot of the mountain. And then, suddenly, our eyes had met.

My hand dropped from my lips, the breath leaving my body. His gaze was direct. There was no room to wonder whether or not he was looking at me, for his eyes had locked into mine across the yards between us in a way that brooked no doubt. I saw him tighten his reins, preventing his horse from turning away; and then the wagon was lurching by, and we were even with each other. He seemed taller than ever upon his mount, with his tan face turned down to mine, and mine up to his.

We were too far away to speak, not that I would have known what to say. The second his eyes had met mine, my lips had parted and my heart had begun pounding, and still, still, he looked at me.

Images began to race through my mind, half-formed and fantastical: his bare tan chest, his long hair in disarray, that fierce face burning with passion as he held himself above me.

And then we had passed, and one of the riders had called to him— he turned in the saddle, and the bands around my chest broke. I could breathe again.

I turned towards the wagon’s entrance, my hand going to my breast, scarcely conscious of what I was doing. The blood that had begun to stir less than an hour before was now heated, racing through my body and causing an ache beneath my skirts. I breathed deeply. That he had looked at me like that, and then not looked away!

“Lass?”

It was Anya’s startled voice, and I turned, hoping I did not look as flustered as I felt.

“By Béma, you’re as red as a summer rose!” She pressed her palm to my forehead, her brow drawing with concern. “Do ye feel alright?”

“Oh yes,” I lied. “The sunlight is doing me good.”

“You’re awfully flushed,” she frowned. “Here, have another sip.”

And so I took the waterskin again, thinking sheepishly that if these were the savage men of Rohan, I was very much inclined to meet more of them.

The golden roof of Meduseld grew closer and closer, but my nerves had been subdued by the encounter with the rider, and I replayed every second of it in my mind. I could not shake the feeling of his eyes boring into mine, and could not help but wonder what _his_ thoughts had been. I found it impossible to guess, and so went back to fantasizing about how his hair would feel between my fingers, how his heavy weight would feel atop me, pinning me by the hips to the mattress. It was not far along this line of thought before I blushed again, to the very roots of my hair.

The wagons and horses thinned the farther we climbed through the streets, and soon there was only foot traffic leading up to the Hall. The wagon jolted to a stop and I wrenched my mind away from the bedchamber— these were thoughts for when one was quite alone, and at the moment, I had other things to deal with.

The horses were lashed to the tie-post, and Anya took my shoulder, guiding me down the stepladder to the cobblestones. I swallowed, tilting my head back to look up the hill. It was an intimidating sight. There had to be someone here that could recognize me, a noble that had visited Dol Amroth, or an old friend of my father’s. There simply had to be— or else I could kiss goodbye any chance of returning home soon.

“Breathe, lass,” Anya murmured. “There’s good people there. I’ve met the housekeeper before, she’s a fine woman. She’ll find some work for ye.”

And so I had no choice but to nod, and fall into step behind her.

The path up to Meduseld seemed steeper with every step, and I did what I could not to trail behind Anya. I felt very out of place, and the nearer we drew to the hall, the higher self-consciousness reared its head. I felt as though many of the passers-by turned to look at our odd coupling— two women, so clearly not related and not quite comfortable together— and I had to remind myself not to duck my chin. I kept my head as high and my spine as straight as possible, and tried very hard not to make eye contact with anyone. 

The open terrace at the front of the hall was tall and sweeping. Near one of the pillars stood a knot of servants, clustered around a ruddy-faced woman. She was shorter than all of them, but they jumped to her orders like spaniels, and I knew that this was not a woman to be trifled with.

“That’s Alewyn, the housekeeper,” Anya muttered. “You’d better let me do the talking.”

While she was occupied, I took the opportunity to look more closely at the lady in question. Her manner was brisk, but there was a kindness in her face that reassured me. Perhaps I could tell her the truth, or, at least, ask her to help me find someone from Dol Amroth in Edoras that I could speak with.

Soon the pair of boys she’d been instructing scampered away, and Anya and I stepped forward. We both curtsied, and I could feel the lady’s curious eyes upon me.

“Good day, Mistress,” Anya nodded. “This young lady is a friend of my husband’s and mine, searching for work in the city. I recommended applying to you, and seeing if help is needed around the hall.”

Mistress Alewyn turned her gaze to me again, examining me, and I did what I could not to fidget. Her eyes darted back to Anya, and they exchanged the quickest of looks. Anya’s earlier words echoed in my head: _“It’s alright if ye’ve no connections. You’re not the first we’ve helped.”_ I felt my cheeks heat. Was that what they made of me, a desperate girl from a desperate life? Anya’s brevity made me think so. Skies above, how was I ever going to convince these people of who I really was?

It had not escaped me, however, that Anya had thrown her good word behind me, and I glanced at her gratefully. After a moment, Alewyn spoke.

“Certainly, I think we could find something. Have you any experience breaking horses?”

“I don’t, I’m sorry to say.”

“That’s alright. What about the scullery, have you ever worked in one before?”

“No, Mistress,” I said, feeling guilty. Already, I was not making this easy.

“Hm,” she frowned. Her eyes moved over me again, more carefully than before, taking in my appearance and, I was sure, noting my distinctly un-Rohirric features.

“I could learn, I’m certain,” I said, rather anxiously. Alewyn’s frown softened. 

“You are a beautiful young woman. How old are you?”

I looked at her, startled. This was not at all the reaction I had been expecting. “Twenty, Mistress, and thank you.”

She nodded. “And are you trying to get back somewhere?”

“Yes,” I said, relieved. “I cannot do anything without some money, and I’ve lost what I had.”

She nodded again. “It’s alright, girl. I have some work you can do, if you decide to take it.”

She turned to Anya.

“Thank you, Mistress Leof.”

“Thank you, Anya,” I said, and bowed my head to her. “I will never forget the kindness you have shown me.”

Already my heart was beginning to pound at the thought of my one ally leaving me, but she smiled reassuringly.

“You are welcome, child. Go well.”

And then she was turning, and Alewyn was beckoning me forward.

“Come with me,” she said, “and I will introduce you to the Lady Mildrithia.”

I barely noticed the winding path that she led me on through the corridors, so busy was I taking in all the new sights. Meduseld was beautiful. All the walls were hung with stitchery, and the great lofted ceilings were lit by torches. There was a dignity and a splendor that, although very different from what I was used to, impressed and quieted me. Apprehension also had a hand in my soberment— I had been handed off from one chaperone to another, and now, it seemed, I was to meet a third. Now that the shock was fading, I was beginning to feel the effects of the previous day, and thoughts of escape or explanation were quickly deteriorating to thoughts of coverlets and pillows.

We had walked to the west side of the hall, and began to climb the spiral staircase of a tower. Alewyn was silent, as was I— I did not have the energy to waste on words, nor did it seem the time for me to plead my case.

Finally, we reached a large door with a wrought-iron handle, and she turned to me, raising a finger to her lips. 

“This is the tower of the Cempestran. Do you wish to go back, girl?”

“No,” I said without thinking, and then all but clouted myself for not asking the obvious questions.

“That’s well, then. Take care to show your respect when we go in. I’ll introduce you to Mildrithia, and she’ll introduce you to the other girls, if she approves of you. Now, look right.”

And before I could say anything else, she opened the door.

Two dozen headds swung around, and I nearly trod on my skirt with nervousness. The room was filled with women, and all of them rather pretty.

“Alewyn?”

One of them rose from her armchair. Her gown was simple but daringly cut, and her fair hair was piled atop her head so high I wondered that she did not catch the chandelier. She gave me a curious, assessing glance, and I saw the intelligent eyes of a commander.

“Good afternoon, Mildrithia,” Alewyn nodded. “I have a new charge for you, if you approve of her.”

Mildrithia glanced at me once more, her eyes traveling from my head to my toes, and I felt more aware than ever of the unfashionable weight of my breasts, and the too-loose bodice of my borrowed dress. It was a heroic effort once more not to fidget.

“What’s your name, my girl?”

“Riel. Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

“And I, you,” she said, and appraised me a moment longer. I realized that all the other women had gone back to their needlepoint or their conversations, trying in spite of the circumstances to give me a bit of privacy, and I was grateful for it.

At last, Mildrithia turned to Alewyn.

“Miss Riel will have a place with us. Thank you for bringing her to me.”

Relief swept through me with the acceptance, and then the remembrance that I had no true cause for relief— yet.

“Of course.” Alewyn turned her eye to me and offered a smile. “These are fine women. Take care you heed them.”

And then she had opened the door and disappeared down the staircase, going back to her duties and leaving me, once again, in the presence of strangers. Lady Mildrithia, however, beckoned me forwards at once. 

“You’ve had a long day. Would you have a bath and supper?”

“I would kill for either,” I admitted, and followed her into the hall.

The space above the tower room was spacious, its turret wide and lined with many small apartments. I was finally able to bathe, washing all the road-dust from my hair and body, and I emerged feeling like a new woman. The food I was brought was simple but filling, and by the time I had finished it, I was more ready than ever for a rest. Mildrithia, however, would not hear of me sleeping on wet hair without plaiting it, and took up the comb herself.

“You are not from here, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I am not.”

“But you have heard stories of the Rohirrim, have you not? The Eorlingas?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. “They are known all over for their bravery and honor.”

She was in front of me, combing out the thick snarls by my face; and I saw her smile, the fierce pride that shone out of her eyes.

“As well they should be,” she said. “They are brave boys, brave men, and we are proud to serve them.”

At last it seemed that we were getting to the heart of the matter, and I was anxious to hear more on the subject.

“Serve?”

“Oh, ay— for that is where our name comes from. We are the female Riders, you could say.”

I looked at her then, startled. “So we are warriors?”

“No,” she said, turning my chin back so she could finish my braids. “We do not serve on the battlefield.”

This seemed woefully incomplete to me, and I waited for more, but it did not come.

“I will not ask your story, Riel,” she said, tying off my hair. “I never do. All I ask is that you treat the boys with dignity, as they deserve. We are quite good friends with them, you know, at the very heart of the truth.”

She moved around the room, checking the bouquet on the table and turning down the bed. My hand ventured to move over the plaits— she had done them perfectly.

“And I do honor them. But the Rohirrim—”

“A high patrol got back today,” she said, drawing the curtains. “Not long after you. It’s good timing— you can rest, and they will be here tonight when you wake up. It always takes an hour or two— they must see to their horses— but they’ll be here. You don’t have to take part, mind you,” she reassured me. “Not tonight. You can merely be present.”

By this time, I was fed up with not getting any straight answers.

“I am sorry, “ I said, “to be such a poor student, but I fear I do not understand. The service provided to the Riders—?”

“Why, we bed them,” she said, as though this were obvious, “and well they need it, after weeks on the plains.”

I do believe my jaw dropped to the very floor. Mildrithia took no notice, but swept over to the wardrobe and flung it open.

“Some of them have wives, of course, and they don’t come—nor would we serve them, if they did. But the younger ones deserve a good tumble too, do they not, for keeping us all safe?”

“Y-yes, I suppose so,” I stammered, too dumbstruck to say anything else.

She pulled a blue gown from the rack, far finer than the one I was wearing, but far more daring than anything I was accustomed to, with a corset bodice and a neckline so low I raised my eyebrows.

“You can wear this tonight, that sack won’t do. No offense meant, my dear, but this will match those lovely eyes of yours.”

She spread it on the chair and I stood stock-still, still hardly knowing where to look or what to say, my mind jammed. When she turned, she nodded towards the bed.

“Get in, woman. I can see how tired you are.”

I moved to the bed and sank to sit on it, barely feeling my legs beneath nme. She smiled then, in a surprisingly motherish fashion.

“Don’t fear— ’tis not a shame. They’ll not treat you with dishonor. It is an honor to serve the valiant. You will understand.”

“Ay,” I said then, because I could not think of what else to say, and bowed my head to run my hand over the quilt. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me today.”  
Her expression softened further, and she paused by the door.

“It’s my pleasure, Riel. That is the other hope I have for the girls— for all of us. To use what you have to broaden your circumstances, your choices. This work is voluntary, and you may leave whenever you wish. But,” she added, her hand on the door handle, “you have been given a chance to serve the most courageous men in the world and support yourself doing it. I will be back in two hours. Sleep well.”

And she backed out of the room, leaving the key on the table; and I, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed, fell into bed at last. My eyes darted from that dress to the shaded window to the door again, and I thought my head would fall off my shoulders under the weight of all that had happened since I’d left Dol Amroth. How could it have been less than a fortnight ago?

At the start of the week, a princess, I thought drowsily. By the end of the week, a whore.

Not a whore, I corrected myself. A cempestra.

What did it matter? I turned over, punching my pillow into shape, and thinking of the snide comments I’d overheard at my father’s parties. Perhaps they were all right anyway— it was savage here, and had I not seen the evidence? Had I not _been_ the evidence?

The tall blond rider drifted into my mind once more when I was somewhere between sleep and waking. Had I not declared my thoughts suited to solitude? Well, solitary and savage I now was, for I had neither the strength nor the desire to resist him; and it was with savagery that I dreamed of his amber eyes, his sweet mouth, his tanned, rough hands. It was savagery that I desired from him, and towards me. I had just begun to envision several better uses for honey when the river widened, deepend, and sleep took me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all my Tolkien sticklers out there, yes, I know that the travel time is technically too short, but I didn't want them out on the Mark for weeks. And yes, this is not the most realistic premise, but, like... it's fun. And that's a good enough reason for me!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!! :)


	2. And Then in My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’d had far too much time during the daylight hours to ponder and fret over such things, and escape was not the only thing on my mind. It was as if the words I’d imagined had come back to haunt me, for both my waking and sleeping hours had become filled with the rider I’d seen on the street...

I slept like the dead, and required Mildrithia’s help both to wake and to get into the blue gown. She was clearly a practiced user, and laced me up with ruthless efficiency.

“Narrow ribcage,” she noted, yanking the last of the laces into place. “That helps.”

“Does it?” I wheezed. “I cannot tell.”

She smiled. “You do look a fit sight, though. Let your hair down.”

I reached up and loosened it, and it fell down in waves that were the product of her handiwork.

“Alas,” she sighed. “I fear I have done my work too well. I shall have to beat away all the men asking for you.”

I blushed fiercely then, and wondered wildly to myself where I was, and what in the name of the Valar I was doing.

“Come along,” she said. “They’ve started arriving.”

And so I had no choice but to follow her out into the hallway, and down the stairs to the room of the Cempestran.

It was spacious and round, with a stone fireplace and countless loveseats. Mildrithia had been truthful— there were three warriors seated with their respective ladies, and all three couples conversing in low tones. Night had fallen, and torches illuminated the room. Outside the many wide windows, stars blazed in a purple sky.

It was enticing, the chance to see these men so closely, and I tried not to stare as we passed them. I felt more aware than ever of how much breast my bodice exposed, but I needn’t have worried— not one of the three riders looked up as I walked by, each man absorbed in his own woman.

“Sit here,” Mildrithia said. “There’s a screen, you see? Draw it if you’d rather not be involved tonight. And,” she added, “if you see a lad you like and feel inclined to roll it back again, you may do that, too.”

Her eyes twinkled, and I coughed out my thanks.

“These women, the cempestran,” she said, “we are your sisters in arms now. If ever anyone disquiets you in this room, you may tell them, or me. We are together, you understand?”

I nodded that I did— and, satisfied, she swept back out to the hall.

I drew the shade as soon as the door had clicked shut behind her, taking as much comfort in the rice paper as a man would a shirt of chainmail. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was rested, fed, and (mostly) alone with my thoughts, and I forced myself to take stock.

First, the good: I was alive. I had, against all odds, survived bandits of the Mark and my own drunken foolishness. I had been rescued and brought to the city, free of charge; and I had been bathed, clothed, and housed, free of charge. Considering what might have happened, this was good fortune indeed.

And then, the bad. An opportunity to claim my true identity had not yet presented itself, and now I feared it was too late. _If_ I could find a way to send a letter to my father, it might take over a month to arrive in Dol Amroth. The messenger likely reaching him in a week would proclaim me missing— the letter likely to follow a week later might declare me lost for good. I thought that my father and brothers would search Edoras, but when? A month, at the soonest, as well— and I shuddered to think what might become of me here in a month.

And so I would have to take matters into my own hands, and, as I saw it, I had two options. I could leave the tower, forsake the bed and the food, and try to support myself with labor in the city until searchers from Dol Amroth came ( _if_ they came)— or, I could stay just long enough to acquire the goods for a journey, avoid the Rohirrim, and then steal a horse and set off alone for home, using the stars and the map I still had in its envelope. It was the one and only personal thing besides my undergarments that I still had, having been underneath my bodice when I’d been knocked out, and I was now sorely glad I had it.

I did not much like either of these plans, but the fact remained that both were better than remaining where I was. I did not think it wise to take my chances in the city— my conversation with Mistress Alewyn earlier that day had certainly proved that I was unprepared to be a part of the working class. It also seemed the height of foolishness to leave behind a free bed, clothes, and food. The theft of a horse was no easy prospect, and the journey would be doubly dangerous alone— but perhaps if I took only the absolute necessities and traveled at night, it would be alright.

In any case, I did not think I could stand sitting still for a month, wondering if anyone was coming to rescue me. And so I made my mind up, and, having a plan, felt better.

With this sorted, I began to re-enter my present surroundings, and saw with a jolt through the screen that the room had filled considerably. What had begun as three men was now nine, and the original couples had vanished. All of the riders were still in their armour, their faces dirty, and all of the women were clean and beautiful, their low-cut silks shimmering like water under the torches.

I was tucked away in the corner, and as the room filled, words of conversation drifted over to me unwittingly. It was impossible not to hear, and— I had to admit it— I was curious.

The cempestra nearest to me was fiery-haired, and her Eorling sat on an ottoman at her feet, holding her hands. As I watched, he raised one to his lips and let it linger there.

“You have no idea… the way I thought of you. The way I always think of you, when I am gone.”

And she leaned into his touch, the breath quickening visibly through her body.

“How?”

“Every night,” he whispered over her upturned hand. “Every day. Every waking moment and then in my dreams, Cwenhilde, I thought of you.”

And then he pressed his fine young lips to her palm, and she moved to kiss him, breathing an endearment; and I had to turn away, my hand at my mouth, feeling startled and voyeuristic for having witnessed such an interaction.

I was taken aback. I had certainly never heard men back home say such things. Were all Rohirric men this way?

It was not then that I thought of him, but, rather, allowed myself to think of him— for, in truth, he had been in the back of my mind since the previous day. My own golden-haired rider came to me; and I heard him say those words, to me.

_“Every night. Every day. Every waking moment and then in my dreams, Lothíriel, I thought of you.”_

And then he would take me in his arms, and I would allow him to do it. And he would kiss my throat, my breasts, and tell me in his deep voice how much he had missed me. 

I sat straight up. How had I not thought of it before? Was it not entirely possible—and, according to Mildrithia, likely—that he would visit the tower before the night was over? My pulse quickened so suddenly that I could feel it in my wrists. Would he, I wondered, could he possibly appear, and seek the pleasure of my company if the screen was down? He had looked at me, had he not, as the wagon had rolled by? I certainly looked a fair sight better now than I had then. What if he appeared and rushed to his own Cwenhilde? 

If that happened, I swore, I would leave the tower that very instant, and go in search of work in Edoras.

“Fool!” I muttered. “Listen to yourself!”

But my exasperation did not decrease my resolve on the point.

As the evening wore on, more of the cempestran came from the rooms upstairs and arrayed themselves on couches, waiting to be requested. The men, I noticed, were becoming cleaner, the later arrivals having taken time to bathe once out of the saddle. Their long hair was still damp. I myself privately felt that I would not mind the sweat and dust, remembering how fierce my man had looked in the market with his smudged, sun-darkened face.

It became crowded enough beneath the torchlight that I could not help but overhear the courting conversations, and I was sure that I blushed more that night than in all of my life combined. There were words of lust, admiration, and what sounded to my ears like love. Some of the riders clearly had a favorite lady, and would make for her immediately, while others sought to be introduced to a new cempestra. The gallantry and passion of the men surprised me, as did the honor and tenderness of the women. Was it like this in all harems? I thought not.

One thing all the couples had in common was that they did not remain in the tower long, once having found each other. I could hear doors closing upstairs, as well as footsteps leaving the tower; I knew what was happening, and was more grateful than ever for my screen.

The stars had moved significantly across the sky and the torches were burning low when Mildrithia re-entered the room. It had largely emptied: there were only a few men left now, the older and less virile, who were talking with some of the women around the hearth. I was still in my corner seat, lost in wild imaginings about my rider, and she quite startled me when she rolled back the screen.

“Good evening, Riel. Stay hidden, then?”

“Yes,” I squeaked, banishing all thoughts of candlelit bedchambers from my mind.

“And what did you think of the evening, my girl? The Eorlingas?”

“Very handsome,” I replied truthfully, and she laughed, helping me to my feet.

“Well, that’s fortunate— but I must agree with you.”

She led me to the staircase quietly, so as to not disturb the last of the lovers, and started up the stairs to the hall.

“Most of them come like this, the evening they get home from a ride. But they’ll trickle in throughout the week, too, especially if they’re a bit nervous to see their lady.”

“Nervous?” I laughed. “To come home from battle and be afraid of a woman? Why?”

“Retribution,” she smiled. “You don’t yet know these men as I know them, Riel. You never know what a hot-blooded man will do. One moment he’ll be swearing he’ll never see you again, and the next he’ll be on his knees begging for you.”

I did not blush, which I took as a good sign of my hardening nerves— and, spurred on, I asked the question bouncing around my mind.

“Do you love one of them?”

“Many.”

“And the couples that I saw tonight?” I pressed on. “The tender ones, I mean. What of them, when the man must marry?”

“Some never do marry,” she answered. “They’ll stay single and return to us throughout their lives, continue their love affairs when they’re home from battle. Some will separate with time, or by agreement. Some will even take their favored cempestra for a wife. ’Tis very rare, but not unheard of.”

My gentler sensibilities were a bit shocked by this, and I told myself impatiently to get out of it.

“And— and the payment?”

I felt awkward asking, but it was essential to my plans, and I had to know. Luckily, Mildrithia seemed unperturbed.

“Well, you’re fed and housed, that’s part of it. The other half is a salary every fortnight, which you’ll get your first of in a week. It’s enough for your gowns and toilettes, and you may do with it what you like.”

This was the answer I had hoped for, and I tried hard not to smile to myself. We had reached my door, and I only had one more question— but I felt foolish voicing it, so I hesitated.

“My Lady, do we— I mean, do we have to go with them whenever they ask? The morning, the middle of the night?”

“Oh, no. Not unless you want to. Although,” she amended, “the king would be the exception. He was not here tonight.”

“Does he come often?” I asked, curious.

“No— hardly at all, anymore. I have scarcely seen him since he was the Marshal of the Mark. In those days, though… well!”

I could not help but flush, even as I grinned at this bit of history.

“The girls used to come back with some very entertaining stories. As I said, we do not see him much now, though I’m sure they’d all like to see the inside of his bedchamber.”

“No doubt,” I said. “I suppose it would be a fortune, to be the king’s favorite.”

“Perhaps that is why,” she said. “And perhaps not.”

After we had bid goodnight, I locked my door and struggled out of my dress, feeling slightly foolish once more for dressing thusly to sit behind a screen all evening. Showing myself, however, would have been far more foolish, and so I assuaged myself.

A week! That was how long I had before the charade could end. If the salary was enough to purchase gowns as fine as this one, I was sure it could also purchase enough provisions for a fortnight on the Mark. I had my own map, and I would have to check the lone bookcase downstairs for anything that could be useful. And—above all—I had to remain inconspicuous. I did not want to be memorable— when I disappeared, I needed to be forgotten quickly. I did not know how long it would be before Mildrithia began urging me to accept suitors, and I did not want to find out.

A week, I swore, and turned into bed at last. One week, and no more.

* * *

Several days passed, and I busied myself with avoiding the tower room during the day and sneaking down to it at night, when I could comb through the bookshelf at leisure. So far, it had proved mostly fruitless— there were far more song transcriptions than there was cartography— but I had found one atlas, and hoped there might be another.

I did not want to complicate my departure by making friends, and so I kept my distance from the other women. Those that I had met were agreeable, but did not press me, and I got the feeling that they were waiting until I was ready to open up on my own. I would never be ready; and so I comforted myself by charting the stars and eating as much as I could. I had lost weight on my first journey across the Riddermark, and this one was sure to be far harder.

It was my fourth night in Edoras, and the moon outside the window was glowing white and full over the plains. I was dressed in another of the low-cut gowns from the closet (for indeed, they were all I had), and pacing about my room as I waited for the last of the women to retire. It was nearly the eleventh hour, and I was impatient— I had only three days left in which to prepare, and I was keen to utilize all of it.

I had applied to Cwenhilde, the redhead, for the location of the stables, and she had pointed them out to me from the window. It would have been best to pay a visit there as well, and establish trust with one of the horses, but I could not bring myself to do it. Recognition, so recently my goal, was now to be avoided at all costs. If I was recognized, all that had happened to me since leaving Dol Amroth would become known, and I would have to explain to my father how I had ended up in a harem. At least, I thought, if I found my way home alone with my virtue intact, it would be considered a miracle. If I was _taken_ home, however, with my whole sensational story over my head, it would become a question of honor.

I’d had far too much time during the daylight hours to ponder and fret over such things, and escape was not the only thing on my mind. It was as if the words I’d imagined had come back to haunt me, for both my waking and sleeping hours had become filled with the rider I’d seen on the street. It was as though the sight of him had awakened some long-dormant beast in me that had just been waiting for the right man’s gaze. I did not understand it, nor could I argue with it. In daylight, he hovered on the fringes; but at night, he came to me with a vengeance. The dreams were never clear, and never satisfying. Instead, I would wake up gasping, with a burning between my legs and the fading sensation of calloused hands gripping my waist. 

And despite my resolution to remain out of sight, I had found myself slipping down to the screened corner more than once in the previous days. There, I would watch for him. I could not say why. He would not see me, even if he did come, and there was every chance he had visited the tower during my hours shut up in my room— but I went anyway, simply for the chance to see him again. I had never been affected so strongly by any man before, and curiosity had gotten the better of me.

But he did not come—or, at least, I did not see him—and I began to wonder if he was one of the married riders. The thought did not sit well with me, somehow, and each time I landed upon it, I turned my thoughts back to the geography of the Mark.

At present, however, this geography was my focus, and I put my ear to the door, listening hard. There were no footsteps on the stairs, no voices from the tower room, so I cracked the door and peeked out. All was dark and quiet. If the downstairs was not deserted yet, it soon would be, and I could not wait any longer.

I went down the hallway and descended the stairs, running my palm along the wall in the dark. Below the crack of the door was the flickering of firelight, and upon pushing it open, I saw that there was only one lady remaining. She was finishing her needlework by the fire, and raised her head to smile when I entered. I smiled back silently, and cracked open one of the song books while I waited. 

It was not long before she put up her work, and left for the comfort of bed; and, after a quick goodnight and a click of the door, I was left to my own devices.

The rest of my search was disappointing, however, with yesterday’s atlas remaining my prize find. I examined some of the coordinates, and made some notes, but found that my heart was not in it. Instead, I ended up at the window, staring out at the sky over the Mark and sketching still more constellations. When I had exhausted my pencil, I found myself simply gazing out over the land, chin in hand. The full moon was nearly as bright as the coals of the fire, and the grass waving beneath it seemed bleached. Clouds scudded across the sky, filmy and ragged and racing. None of it looked, in that moment, to be real at all— and I allowed myself, just for a moment, to shiver at the prospect of crossing those plains alone.

It was with heavy eyes that I rose and gathered up my papers. The fire in the hearth had died considerably, and the torches had burned to stumps. The great brass snuffer was heavy in my hand as I walked around the room, putting out the brackets between yawns— I was ready to forsake thoughts of my imminent journey in favor of sleep, for bed sounded very good indeed.

My powers of observation were, perhaps, not at their strongest— and I was just reaching for the torch by the door when the landing creaked.

I went to step back, startled, but it was too late. A second later the door had swung open, and the edge of it caught me hard on the temple.

I swore mightily and dropped both my papers and the snuffer, my hand going to my head just as a hand caught my elbow.

“By Eorl! Are you alright?”

And then my body froze, and slowly, slowly, I looked up. The pain shooting through my head suddenly seemed miles away. 

It was him.

As soon as our eyes met, he stepped back and dropped my elbow, and I saw my own shock reflected on his face. Was it— could it be possible—that he remembered me, too? Skies above, his face was so fiercely handsome that I hardly dared to look at it.

“I am very sorry,” he said, his deep voice vibrating straight through me. “I’ve hurt you.”

He was clearly startled, but trying to recover, and the nearness of him was flustering me.

“It’s nothing,” I said at once. My mind seemed to be slipping and falling all over itself. “I’m alright.”

I stared at him, having to raise my chin just to look into his face. His long blond hair was flowing loose, and his armor was gone. Instead, his broad shoulders were covered by a tunic, with a dagger at his hip his only weapon. And his eyes— may the Valar help me— were as amber as I remembered, and they were dark with concern— for me.

“Nay, you’re not. You’re bleeding.”

I raised my hand to check, with him still staring at me and I at him. My fingers came away wet.

“It’s not deep.”

I could still feel the imprint of his fingers burning on my elbow, and when he reached forward and grasped my chin, I lost my breath.

“Let me see.”

He stepped towards me again, and then I was within the circle of heat from his body. He tilted my head towards the still-burning torch, his hand so large that his thumb was against my pulse and his fingers were behind my ear, nearly into my hair. This stranger had me by the throat, quite literally, and did I protest? No— instead, my eyes closed and my lips parted. I could not help it. I could feel every riding callous on his fingers, and the waves of desire now weakening my knees were almost frightening.

“You’re right,” he said hoarsely, and my eyes opened. “It’s shallow, but you’ll have a bruise. Here—”

And he reached out with his sleeve, and I caught his wrist, and we were staring at each other again.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice quite as hoarse as his. “You’ll stain it.”

My fingers could barely wrap halfway around his wrist. His skin was warm, the pulse drumming hard against my fingers.

He smiled down at me and my mouth went dry. “I nearly concussed you, and you’re worrying yourself about my shirt?”

And he shook his arm free, one rough hand going to my cheek to brace me, the other gathering the fabric of his sleeve and pressing it hard against my cut. I really had no choice but to let him, because I was finding it difficult to hide my increasing breathlessness. I could not believe that he was in front of me, this man I’d dreamed about so salaciously, and touching me in such a familiar way. My breasts, already perilous in Mildrithia’s dress, were now positively aching for his touch— the moment his skin had met mine, my nipples had thrilled and hardened.

“Would you like me to send for a physician?”

“No, indeed,” I frowned, my jaw moving against his palm. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“It ought to be cleaned, perhaps,” he murmured, and I studied his lips. As I had seen before, they were fuller than average, with a curve to the lower that promised firm softness. It was sensuous, even, and the dark shag of his beard only further enhanced it.

“I will wait a day,” I whispered. “I’m sure it will close.”

And then I was looking up at him, and he was looking down at me, and his rough hands held my face; and I nearly trembled with the want to know how his lips would feel on mine, how his beard would scratch my skin.

He let go of me a moment later and it was with both relief and regret that I watched him step back. I was still trying to gather my wits when he knelt and scooped up my papers, stacking them neatly. 

“You don’t have to—”

“Not at all,” he said, straightening and depositing them into my hands. “Come, sit down with me. That’s a head wound, you’ve lost blood.”

The situation was rapidly becoming impossible for me to navigate, and I was not sure that I trusted myself to sit opposite this man in a semi-dark room. I forced myself to breathe, and did not follow when he sank down onto a sofa.

“Indeed, sir, I’m alright— I was more startled than anything, and now I am inconveniencing you. I can wake the Lady Mildrithia, if you were seeking a certain woman.”

He looked at me as though I’d lost my senses. “Nay, my lady, I’ll not have you running errands for me after such an ungallant display. Please, come sit, just for a moment.”

I was about to protest further when I caught sight of my blood on his sleeve: it had soaked through the fabric, and shone brightly under the dim torch. It was arresting, to think that he would take such a piece of me away with him— and so I found myself sinking down behind him on the sofa, nearest the dying hearth. 

It was a small couch and we were very close, with only two hands-breadth between us. It had no back, and when sitting straight, he faced the fire, and I away from it; but we turned our shoulders so as to look at each other, and the space between us closed down even further.

“You are up very late,” he said, and I watched as his hand went to his belt, gripping the hilt there.

“As are you.”

He smiled slightly, ruefully. And then, “And your drawings? I am sorry to have looked, but I, too, have an interest in the night sky.”

I swallowed. “Yes, it’s a hobby of mine.”

We were so close that I was afraid he would see in my eyes how badly I wanted him. His hand on my throat had not been nearly enough— I wanted his beard to burn the curve of my neck, to feel his teeth sink into my shoulder. And oh, to feel those rough fingers tug a nipple…

“You are a rarity, then,” he said, just as the thought shot heat between my legs. “I have never met a cempestra who studied the heavens.”

I only smiled. “The skies are beautiful out over the Mark tonight. I could not resist.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. His hand was still gripping his dagger. “The moon is only a night from being full.”

He turned further then, to look out the window, and his body was brought still closer to mine. I felt that surely the ground must tilt and send me crashing into him at any moment, for I could feel his gravity pulling at me.  
His eyes were bright and dark as they looked out over the plain.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, “I will take my horse out on nights like this, when the wind is fierce and the moon is bright. It is a relief, to ride across the fields while the Centaur rides above me.”

And then he turned from the window back to me, bringing our faces closer together than ever; and the hand nearest my breast grew white-knuckled on the dagger. There was nothing I could do to stop it, and a powerful shudder ran through my entire body.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered. His eyes had darkened nearly to brown. “Do you feel weak?”

“No,” I whispered back. “Not at all.”

And he looked at me and I at him, as the wind whistled against the tower windows— and, for one wild moment, I was sure he was going to kiss me.

He cleared his throat and stood suddenly, and I leaned back at once. Only then did I fully realize the position we’d been in, our chins tilting in opposite directions, his hair nearly brushing my bare shoulder.

“I must apologize to you again, my lady,” he said, bending his head so his face was in shadow. “Please, if you need any medical attention, send word at once.”

My heart was pounding, and I scarcely trusted myself to make a response.

“Not at all, I—”

“I will leave you to your rest,” he said, and backed towards the door. “If you can sleep at all, with the moon so bright. I suspect I shall not. Goodnight.”

And before I could make sense of either the farewell or its wording, he had disappeared down the tower stairs. A moment later, the door swung shut.

I sat still, staring unseeingly at where he’d vanished, my heart racing.

“By Anárion...”

Slowly, I became aware that my hands were clenched tightly in my lap, and let go. My palms were sweaty. 

I climbed the stairs back up to my room on shaking legs, thoughts so in a whirl that I dared not even try to untangle them. I sought sleep, but, as he’d predicted, it would not come— though the moon was not the culprit. It was the burning of my body that kept me awake, a sweet torturous throbbing that grew until I nearly sobbed in frustration. What had this man done to me?

I threw off the covers in a fit and lay on the tangled mass, breathing heavily as my nipples stiffened in the cold. What would he be like between the legs? I imagined him huge, jutting, and bit my lip without realizing I did so. It was only right that he would be thus— he was the tallest Eorling I had seen yet.

I continued in this vein for some time, replaying every second of our encounter in my mind, and seeking through memory to feel his hands again. It was only in the very early morning, just before I finally dropped off, that two obvious things occurred to me: Firstly, in my distraction, I had neglected to ask his name; and, secondly, that he had come to the tower, sat with me a moment, and then left again. It seemed an odd way indeed to accomplish the usual goal of visiting a harem— and, as I was growing used to, I fell asleep with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know your thoughts!! Drop me a comment! <3


	3. Moonrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _morgensteorra_ — morning star  
>  _mín cyme_ — my lovely one

I woke the next morning, wondering as soon as my eyes opened whether the night before had been a dream or reality. It had been a dream, I was almost sure— but then I caught sight of my face in the looking-glass. As promised, a light bruise had bloomed around the cut, which was really quite small for all that blood. His handiwork, I thought wryly— and so it must be true.

And yet, believing it to be true was no mean feat, and if it had not been for the marked tension in my body, I do not think I would have. The first hour after waking was spent languidly in bed, re-living the encounter second-by-second in my mind. The second hour was spent in front of the glass, combing my hair mindlessly and trying to make myself think practical things. I found it impossible, and got back in bed, the atlas still lying untouched on the table. I could not forget how his hand had felt on my shoulder, my cheeks; nor the look in his eyes when I’d thought he was going to kiss me. If the cut was real, then the encounter was real— and that meant the desire between us was real. I had felt it, and it could not be denied.

Just my luck, I thought. The first time I’d ever felt this way, and look at the circumstances.

They were not good, no doubt. Oh, Anárion, what would he do? Would he come back, and see me again? Did I _want_ him to come back?

I pulled myself together at last in the late afternoon, when the sun was low and golden on the horizon. I had been staring out the window, and realized that the Mark looked exactly as it had on the day I had been attacked. It was beautiful, and sufficiently sobering.

And so I dressed, sat down, and made a list of all that I’d need for the journey home. Food, a bedroll, a saddle, some rope, some kind of weapon… The more I wrote, the more it dawned on me just how spoiled I had been, not having had to pack a single bag for my first journey to Rohan. This new independence was both frightening and enlightening, and I forged ahead as industriously as I could. The salary was to be distributed tomorrow— I would receive it in the morning, purchase provisions in the day, and set out when night fell. There was no need to waste time, once I had the means to go. I laid the list beside my still-sealed travel map and regarded them with satisfaction, before turning to my atlas and preparing to take figures.

I had mastered myself for several hours, but the early evening brought a relapse into dreamier thoughts, and I told myself firmly to stop such things immediately. I did not; and so by the seventh hour I found myself snatching up the atlas, feeling that if I could not be bothered to concentrate on it, a fitting punishment would be having to return it to a tower full of cempestras.

I descended the stairs in something of a whirl, quite distracted with myself, and hardly noticed my surroundings until I saw a pair of women at the tower door. 

“Yes,” one was whispering, “he’s talking to Mildrithia, asking about someone…”

“Oh,” whispered the other, whom I recognized as Cwenhilde, “I just know those girls are salivating in there…”

I stepped back, rather feeling as though I was intruding, but the stair creaked. Cwenhilde turned, and, seeing me, beckoned me over.

“Come, Riel!”

“What’s going on?” I whispered, tip-toeing over to them.

“The king!” she whispered back, smiling— her companion nodded. “We haven’t seen him in _so_ long.”

“And he’s only grown more handsome,” said her friend. They both giggled.

“This is Hilla,” Cwenhilde nodded. “Hilla, Riel.”

We said our introductions, and I could not help but smile, the two of them were so plainly excited. 

“Have you ever seen our lord Éomer, Riel?”

“No, never. Only heard of him.”

“Well,” said Hilla, “his face is as fine as his deeds. And, if what they say is true, that is not the only thing that—”

“Hilla!” Cwenhilde reproached. “Riel is new!”

“I don’t mind,” I said quickly.

“Well, anyway,” Hilla amended, “he’s a king to be proud of, that’s sure. Oh, let’s go back in!”

“Do you want to, Riel?” Cwenhilde whispered. “You could see him for the first time!”

I had said that I would not make friends here; but this was my last night, and was I not seeking a distraction? I straightened my skirts.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

And I fell in beside Hilla, who turned the handle and swung the door open.

I saw Mildrithia first— her presence was comforting by now, and she looked spectacular tonight in all violet. The man next to her, however, I could not comprehend— for the two women with me whispered of the king, and he—and he—

That long blond hair, those hands that had held my face. The sensuous shape of his mouth, that fierce brow, and those amber eyes that now turned to me—

And it could not be. How could it be?

“King Éomer!” Hilla whispered, looking gratified at my gobsmacked expression. I could not form a response.

They led me to one of the couches, but I barely noticed. First on the street, he’d stirred me to blushing and gasping like a fool just by looking at me; then he had positively burned me in my dreams. And now, now he was here, hard flesh and blood in front of me, and the moment our eyes had met, he had turned back to Mildrithia. And he was saying something to her, and she was glancing towards me, and nodding—and now, may the Valar help me, he was approaching us!

I swore violently under my breath, for lack of a better way to vent my feelings, and my two companions looked at me curiously. Then, Cwenhilde, who was seated in the middle, noticed Éomer’s deliberate path across the room. She gripped both of our knees hard, nearly beaming.

“By Béma, I think he’s coming over!”

And then he had, and I had no time to think at all, but could only stare up at him with my heart pounding. He looked even more handsome than he had the night before, now in the full light of the room, and for the second time, I found it difficult to look directly at him.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening, my lord,” replied Hilla, and I was devoutly thankful that there was someone else to speak. “Are you well after your ride last week?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, and I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board— for though he addressed Hilla, he was looking at me.

“I was right,” he said. “It did bruise. I’d hoped to be wrong.”

Hilla and Cwenhilde both looked at me now, and I swallowed.

“It will fade.”

“Oh, ay,” he said, and took another step towards us. “But the regret will not.”

“You are very gallant,” I said dryly, hoping that he could not hear my bounding heartbeat, and acutely aware of the women next to me. “But it did close, just as I said.”

He half-smiled then, and took a breath.

“Would you sit with me?”

I chanced a glance at Cwenhilde— she was looking back at me with wide eyes.

“Yes, my lord,” I said, and rose on knees that felt made of water.

He led me to a window seat and sank down onto the cushion. I perched myself a sensible distance away, remembering only too vividly our proximity the night before, and already beginning to feel the power of his gravity.

“I am sorry to take you away from your friends,” he said, looking sideways at me. “I will not keep you too long, if you have an engagement.”

I nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity of this consideration.

“No, my lord. I hardly know them, in truth. I’m new here.”

“I thought you might be,” he said, an odd expression on his face. “I am sorry to ask it, if I am wrong, but— were you in the market earlier this week?”

My stomach stomach leapt into my throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Traveling by wagon?”

“Yes,” I said, hardly daring to believe it. “We saw each other— I remember.”

He looked relieved. “Yes— it _was_ you. What is your name, my lady? I can scarcely believe I am just now asking.”

“Riel,” I said. “And now I know yours. My lord, I had no idea—last night—”

“And so you met your king by a blow to the head,” he said, grimacing. “I hope our second encounter will be more pleasant.”

At this, there was a swoop in my stomach, and I did not know where to look. He hurried on.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, perfectly fine.” If only he knew the extent of the head trauma I’d been through recently!

“I am glad to hear it. That bruise ought to fade quick enough, as you said.” 

He raised a hand and brushed the spot gently, and I held my breath. His fingers were warm.

“I am not concerned about it,” I said, my mouth dry. “I daresay you are in more pain over it than I.”

I heard him truly laugh for the first time then, his hand dropping, and there was a strange melting in my  
chest. It was a deep, full-throated, infectious sound.

“Perhaps you are right.”

I was smiling at him, unable to help it, my entire body thrumming with nerves. I could feel all the eyes in the room upon us. What would they think, of the king paying such attention to the new arrival?

“So what brings you to Edoras, my lady?”

I thought quickly— how much could I tell?

“I was seeking work, and was told Meduseld was a good place to find it.”

“’Tis true,” he nodded. “Many travel here for the opportunities. Where do you come from?”

“Far away,” I said. “Outside the borders of Rohan.”

I hoped he would forgive me for this vaguery, and, after a glance, he seemed to.

“Yes, I can tell. There are not many dark-haired women here.”

“I’m something of a black sheep, I fear.” 

He smiled and shifted. “You are rather too fair, for a sheep.”

I colored even as I laughed, my heart thudding into my throat. “Thank you, my lord, I think.”

The room was growing steadily more crowded, with many of the cempestras clearly as eager to sneak a glance at Éomer as Hilla and Cwenhilde had been. They all kept to themselves, talking to each other and ostensibly focused on other things, but the burning of dozens of gazes upon us was impossible to ignore.

Éomer’s nearness did not help matters either, for it clouded my mind with thoughts I’d marked for solitude. I, too, shifted a bit closer to his body on the bench seat, hardly noticing what I was doing, and he sucked in a breath. The pause between us was tense.

“How have you found Edoras so far, my lady?”

“Beautiful,” I answered, and smoothed my hair, for I was desperate for something to do with my hands. “Everyone has been very kind to me.”

“I am glad of it,” he said. “I have been many places, but this city remains the dearest to me, as does the land surrounding it. I would recommend you look upon the Mark at night, but you are clever enough to have done that already.”

I bit my lip, pleased by the compliment. The room was growing noisier, and he had to bend his head to hear my response— our faces drew closer, and the warmth of his body reached my skin.

“I could hardly have resisted. Didn’t you say the full moon will rise over it tonight?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “It will be a lovely evening.”

I glanced at him, unsure, and found him looking directly back at me. What was he saying? What did he mean? What did he want of me?

 _Don’t be a fool!_ my mind screamed. _What does he want of you? Look where you are!_

And yet, we had been entirely alone in the dark the night previously, and he had barely made a pass at me. Was he asking about me only to check on the state of my head, then? Or was it more than that?

The pause between us stretched even longer this time, and I felt as though I would shatter any second. At last, he cleared his throat and shook his head as if to clear it.

“I am sorry, my lady. I fear we are being watched rather closely.”

I laughed, hating the betraying tremor in my voice. “Yes, I’d say so. Makes it difficult to concentrate, doesn’t it?”

“Very,” he agreed. His hands were completely flat and still upon his knees. “Perhaps I ought to have waited for dark once more, and hoped to find you alone.”

It was hopeless— I could not help but blush at these words.

“And, had you asked, I might have waited up for you.”

He looked up quickly, his fingers contracting, and I knew that I was not imagining the way his eyes darkened. There was another silence between us, the longest and tensest yet, and we simply looked at each other.

“My lady,” he said at last, his voice rough and low. “Would you do me the honor of spending the evening with me?”

Everything inside of me stilled, and I stared at him, amazed. Was this happening to me? How could it be? And still he looked at me, and I just could not stand how handsome he was.

“Yes, my lord,” I heard myself whisper.

And then he was standing, towering over me, taking my hand— and, under thirty pairs of astonished female eyes, I allowed myself to be led from the room.

* * *

My heart had never beat faster, and I was nearly faint from the force of it. I knew I must ask myself what I was doing, and quickly, but his fingers had laced with mine, and I found I could not speak. I could hardly think for the heat of his body.

“It is not far,” he promised, his voice tight. “Just to the north a bit.”

I could only nod, and he squeezed my hand, which made my heart stutter in a way I could not explain.

You must tell him, I thought desperately. You must make him stop.You must tell him who you are, and use your better judgement… _‘I am Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, and I cannot go with you.’_ For that is the truth…

But, I was realizing, there was more than one truth at play— for, in my heart, I did not _want_ him to stop. 

Now that we were alone together, the need to pretend that the obvious was not happening had diminished. It had been there on the street, it had been there in the tower, and he was practically pulling me along, now. The truth was that I wanted him very badly, and the ache between my legs was drowning out any good sense I had left. His skin was hot under my hand, his body large beside me, and I was remembering my dreams of him grasping my waist, how he’d look when completely naked. Was it really to come true? Was I to find out?

He led me up a corridor and we began to climb into another tower. I saw the tight clench of his jaw, felt the squeezing pressure of his hand; and, when we finally reached the door, he turned to me and grasped my hands tightly.

“I must unlock the door, but by Béma, I cannot wait any longer.”

And with that, he bent his fair head and tilted his chin, and then his lips were pressing hard against mine, so suddenly and fiercely that I gasped. I had been kissed only twice before, and it had been nothing, nothing like this— his warm mouth worked against mine, and my head was bent back by the force of it, blood thundering in my ears. His hands went to my face, holding me roughly, tightly, and I grasped his waist, just trying to hold on.

He pulled back for only a breath and then pressed forward again, tilting his head further and pulling me hard against his body. His lips felt as full as they’d looked, generous and slightly chapped, and— I whimpered into his kiss— there was a hardness pressing into my belly, something large and foreign that sent a shiver through me. One of his hands found my own once more, and pressed it over his heart even as my back bowed with his embrace. The rhythm under my hand was galloping, wild.

His beard scraped my cheeks as he pulled back with a groan.

“Béma, but you are not making this easy.”

“Unlock the door, my lord,” I gasped. His eyes caught mine and then both of his arms were sweeping me against him, a growl in the back of his throat as he slid his cheek against mine.

“Nay, I will never do so, unless you call me Éomer. Say it.”

“Éomer,” I gasped, feeling as though every particle of my world was falling down around me. “Unlock the door, Éomer, now.”

And he did, keeping one arm around me, and we fell over the threshold a moment later.

And I, who had so blithely discussed the king’s bedchamber with Mildrithia, could not be bothered to notice it now. I saw only the light of the full moon, puddling on a massive four-poster bed, before I was being pressed up against the wall by the waist. It was quite literally a dream come true, and I wondered for one wild moment if I was still sleeping— but it was so much sharper than a dream, my breath coming in short pulls, my body shuddering as he pressed his hot mouth to the bare curve of my neck.

“May I tell you how beautiful you are?” he asked lowly, his lips brushing my skin with every word. “I feel as though I shall break in two, if I do not.”

“Éomer—”

“Like the morning star,” he said, and kissed my throat again and again, each touch sending white-hot bursts between my legs. “I nearly fell from the saddle when I saw you.”

“Oh—” I said then, for it was all I could manage— he was sucking at my pulse point, the hot  
glide of his tongue shocking the tops of my thighs so powerfully that my knees wavered.

“As bright as the _morgensteorra_ ,” he said, and pulled the pin from my hair, sending it tumbling over my shoulders as he pressed another hard kiss to my lips. I reached up and grasped his shoulders, his neck, searching for something to anchor me.

“I dreamt of you,” I murmured, and he tilted his own head back with a groan, his eyes closing.

“Stars above, woman…”

And I found myself leaning forward to fill the space, standing on my tip-toes, twisting my hands in his long hair so tightly I knew it must hurt.

“I did. I have, nearly every night since I first saw you.”

A breath left him, and I raised my chin, standing on my toes to press kisses where his shirt pulled away from his neck. A moment later he was lifting me as though I weighed nothing, granting me greater access to his tan throat; and I wrapped my legs around his waist, dragging kisses along his neck as he had done to me, tasting his skin and sweeping my tongue over the place his pulse was hammering.

He began muttering in Rohirric and I kissed his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, my hand still buried in his hair. My own lips and cheeks were already beginning to smart with the rub of his beard, but the pain was just as exquisite as I had imagined.

“Off— your shirt—”

And he set me on the ground, forgoing the fastenings to rip it over his head. I thought I could not admire him more, but words failed me— his chest was hard and muscular, his flat abdomen heaving, dark nipples hardening in the air. It seemed too good to be true that I might touch him, and I slid flat palms from his neck to his chest and then down over rigid pectorals, his nipples brushing my fingertips. His skin was smooth and warm under my hands, and when he gasped out in his deep voice, heat flooded me.

“How can any man be so handsome?”

He again responded in Rohirric, and I stepped forward further to stand against him. The straining hardness in his trousers pressed into my stomach, and, though strange, I found something deep inside of me aching. I pressed open-mouthed kisses from his shoulder to the center of his chest, my heart throwing itself desperately against my ribs. I knew not what I ought to do, or what not— I knew only that I was ravenous for him, and that I wanted to seek as much of his bare skin as possible. When my tongue caught his nipple, he jerked against my mouth so hard I almost lost my balance against him.

“Riel—”

And his hands were pressing me back, going around me to the laces of my dress. I could see my own heartbeat pulsing in front of my eyes and closed them, enjoying the hot brushings of his calloused fingers at the nape of my neck. His hands found the cords of the corset, and stilled.

“I have neither the time nor inclination for this confounded thing. I’m sorry.”

“I care not,” I breathed, and then he was renting it, a clean tear down the center, and the neckline fell forward. His hands further pushed the sleeves down my arms, and then my breasts were bare, their full white curves and pink nipples tightening upwards under his gaze.

He swore again in Rohirric, now violently, and his hands tightened painfully on my wrists— then he was pushing me back onto the bed in the moonlight, his mouth going to my neck again as his hands moved to cover my breasts. I heard myself gasp— it was an all-encompassing feeling, the warm roughness of his hands covering me completely— and when he began to rub his thumbs over the tops of my nipples, I felt as though I was melting between the legs.

“Éomer!”

My hair was splayed over his pillow and he was half-astride me, his knee pressing down my skirts between my thighs; and at my cry, I felt the sharp sting of teeth on my shoulder, followed immediately by the hot stroke of his tongue. His knee moved higher between my thighs— and, wetting his fingers, he lightly twisted each of my nipples as his knee moved back and forth, pressing through the fabric against the place that throbbed for him.

It was as if he had struck a ringing chord on my body, and my gasping moan was mute to my own ears. I knew only that my entire being was thrilling with him, with these sensations he was pulling from me, and that I must have still more of him. When he wrapped one hand in my hair and bent me backwards on the mattress, lowering his head to take a nipple in his mouth, I felt all the air leave me in one breathless shudder. Oh, _this_ I had never imagined, his beautiful lips wrapped around me, the warm wetness of his tongue swirling around my sensitive nerves, his hands still cupping my breasts. And when I felt the light bite of teeth and his tongue stroked repeatedly over the captured nipple, I feared I would weep from want.

“Éomer, _please_ …”

I did not quite know what I was begging for, other than relief from this sweet agony he had awakened in me— but he only shook his head, now just brushing the heat of his lips against my abused flesh.

“A bit longer, _morgensteorra_ ,” he whispered, sounding every bit as tortured as I felt. “I could never forgive myself, if I did not—oh, you are just so—”

And he lowered his head to the other breast, his knee moving slowly all the while, and I felt as though I would dissolve into the moonlight.

I was already soaked beneath my skirts, and when he began to suck at my nipple, my body clenched and my hands pulled his hair in desperation. It was as though lightning had shot through me.

“Oh, _please_ …”

There was a terrible throbbing in my womb that begged for him to take me, and take me hard. I longed to feel him from the inside, pressing against the tight walls of my body, utterly stretching and filling me. I did not know what to do because I could not think, and I shoved his hand from my breast, pushing it down towards my thighs. His teeth grazed my neck then, and he held me as he lifted my skirts; and I stopped breathing entirely, waiting for one dying, stinging moment.

When his fingers finally brushed me, it was more exquisite pain— partly relief, but somehow worsening tenfold because it was not enough. I clung to his neck, gasping, as he held himself above me and stroked me again, now repeatedly and firmly, and I choked out his name once more.

“ _Éomer!”_

“Oh, what _is_ this?” he murmured. “You are— oh, I want you so badly I can hardly think!”

And he circled between my legs with one hand, his fingertips wet with my arousal, sliding repeatedly over my bud of nerves. Every touch sent a new wave of heat to the very heart of me, and I thought I would fall apart for the pleasure of it.

It was then that I felt his hand at my entrance— and then, before I could speak, he was pushing inside of me, and my body opened to a man for the first time.

I went rigid, my hands squeezing him so tightly that the blood left my knuckles, and his head fell to my shoulder with a groan.

“Have mercy, my lady…”

He withdrew and then pressed back in, curling his finger as he slid deeper inside of me, and I felt my body grasping at the edge of a pleasure so deep I gasped, afraid of what he would do to me next.

He massaged me from the inside for a moment, allowing me to pant into his kiss— and then he withdrew both lips and fingers, his grip going to my waist instead, a slight frown on his face.

“You have not done this before.”

It was a statement, not a question, and I shook my head.

“No.”

“Are you sure you wish to—?” He kissed me once more, and when he pulled away, he looked directly into my eyes. His own were impossibly dark, and the blazing want of my body made the decision for me.

“I need you,” I said. “I want you. _Please_.”

I had imagined what he had looked like, alone in my room, and my heart was pounding as he stood up, fumbling with his trousers. When he untied the knots and pushed down, I caught my breath.

Lord, he was enormous. This part of him was just as beautiful as the rest, curving slightly towards his stomach, the hair above golden and wild. He was flushed pink, so hard that the skin pulled tightly over his head, and when he stretched out above me once more, the heavy hardness bounced against his thigh.

“You are the fairest woman I’ve ever seen,” he said tenderly, and laid his palm against my flushed cheek. “I have been blessed.”

And with his other hand he pressed his thick head against my entrance— he was hot, a burning brand, and impossibly big. I felt my wetness covering him as he slid against me, and then he was pushing forward, and I stung with pain as my body opened up to him.

He went inch by inch, easing in and drawing back out again, and I saw the strain of his muscles even as my own body burned from the inside out. I knew that my mouth was open, and my hands were clutching his arms, nails digging in— our eyes drowned in each others’, and I could hear nothing, only feel the absolute fullness of my body as he pushed still deeper inside of me. 

When our hips met, he pressed forwards for an instant, and I yelped— and then he was drawing back out, only to push back in, and I gave a great shuddering gasp as my body clenched around him. I saw his teeth grit.

“You will undo me if you make that sound again…” 

And he withdrew once more, and the next thrust moved more easily as I stretched. I could only stare into his eyes and gasp for him, for the huge hardness that was so rock-solid inside of me.

The tightness remained in his muscles as he began to move more steadily, short thrusts that did not leave the depths of my body. It was both a punishment and a relief not to have him withdraw, and I arched upwards for his lips, helpless, hoping that he would understand. He did, and bent his head to kiss me— and his tongue slid against mine, and everything inside of me opened to him like a flower to the rain. My mouth, my body, my arms— all encompassed him, were laid bare for him—and I was pinned to the bed by his hips as he held my face with one rough hand, murmuring in Rohirric.

As I began to stretch further and accommodate him, he lengthened his strokes, drawing half his length out before pushing back in, and I knew I was bruising his shoulders with my grip but could not stop. My arousal covered him now, and was turning the movement between us into a glide— his rhythm steadied, and I moaned at the deep ache that suddenly resurfaced.

“Oh, more, please…”

His eyes closed, his breath catching, and then his hands were at my waist, locking our hips together deeply as he kissed me. I struggled against his lips, unable to breathe or think, and he began to jerk into me harder. 

“Éomer—” I gasped, and his eyes found mine, devoured me, pleasure rocking through me with his every stroke. “Oh, harder—”

The pain and pleasure had somehow become confused, mixed, and I knew only that I wanted him to pound into me, split me. At last, he began to use his full length, the huge head of him striking deep with every thrust, and I was crying out with each blow. It was as though I had been empty my entire life, and never known it; and now, like this, filled with him and stretched to the breaking point, I had discovered what I’d long been missing.

My hands went from his shoulders to squeeze helplessly at the covers, and he pushed up from where he had been holding himself above me— his hands gripped my waist, and he knelt upright between my legs as he snapped back into me.

_“Oh!”_

It was agonizing bliss, this change of angle— my body took him deeper, and he was relentless. The curve of him found each stroke dragging along my front wall, and I grew so breathless I was nearly sobbing, and still I wanted more, harder, faster—

“You are so tight—so beautiful—”

Our eyes met again and his hand found mine and I gasped over and over, my spine arching off the bed to take him even further within me. Oh, it was savage.

He did not release my hand, but brought his free one to his mouth—and then he was reaching between us to stroke me between the legs again.

“Éomer—” I sobbed, “please, _please_ —”

It was overwhelming, My skin burned all over, and my own words scorched my throat. His breath was coming in sharp pants, and he leaned half-over me, bracing himself on our joined hands that pressed into the mattress above my head. The strokes between my legs quickened and he was staring at me as I moaned, gasped, his eyes burning, chest heaving. His own sounds were now coming from his full lips, and the deep vibrations struck me to the very core.

“Let go, _mín cyme_ — oh, please, I cannot—”

And he broke off into a groan, the rhythm of his hips stuttering, his hand moving faster over me, and I drew a gasp as though a dirk had sunk into my breast— my eyes clamped shut and I squeezed his hand, squeezed my body until my vision grew dark at the edges— and still, he slammed into me. One, two, three more times, and on the fourth my resistance shattered, he broke me at last, and the light flooded in all at once.

I knew not what sounds I made, only that I pulled him down on top of me, demanding the crush of his weight to keep me together— and it was only a moment later that he gave a strangled moan himself, his lips by my ear, and a new heat spread deep within me.

Pleasure and pain swept through me with every heartbeat, and I did not know how much time passed. The relief was so great as to be agonizing, and I could only bury my face into the crook of his neck and pray for my breath to return. His sweat was against my lips, and when I kissed him softly, I tasted salt. We simply breathed together for a long while.

Some time later, he pulled back and raised himself to his elbows.

“I’m sorry—I forgot myself. I am crushing you.”

“Not at all,” I said, and reached up to stroke his cheek. I was hesitant at first, afraid now that the heat of the moment had passed, he would not desire such tenderness; but instead, he closed his amber eyes and covered my hand with his own, keeping it there. A moment later he rolled off of me, and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips.

“I must thank you.”

I kissed him back, and turned onto my stomach to lie across his chest. It should have been impossible, for hunger to stir again so quickly, but it did— the kiss deepened and his hand buried itself in my disheveled hair as our tongues met, our lips hot and swollen.

“In all of Arda,” he gasped, pulling back, one arm draped over my waist to hold me against him. “What have you done to me?”

“It is I that should be asking you, my lord,” I said, and brushed his hair from his face, my heart trembling. “I did not know—I have never felt—”

“Nor I,” he whispered, and we were still, gazing at each other for a long while as his rough hands smoothed over my still-flushed skin.

The moon was high outside the window when we at last dropped off. I offered to return to the tower, but he would not hear of it— instead, we slept side-by-side, his fingers intertwined with mine. My last thought was of my dress, and how I was going to explain its damage to Mildrithia. Although, I thought, snuggling further into the king’s bed, perhaps she would not mind so much, given the circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this chapter. If you liked it please let me know!!


	4. Bud to Blooming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I'm a slow writer and a terrible procrastinator. Anyways, here's some more sex.

I woke the next morning wondering, for one panicked moment, where I was. Then, all at once, the night before came flooding back to me, and the dull throbbing between my legs registered. It was too much to take in one go, and I buried my head beneath the covers for a moment, waiting for the world to right itself.

When I emerged, nothing had changed— I was alone in the huge four-poster, sunlight flooding through the windows. My eyes roamed the room. There were tapestries on the walls, a desk, a wardrobe, a washbasin, and all kinds of deadly weapons propped in the corners. 

My eyes moved to the empty place beside me, my hand following. It was late morning— kings did not get the privilege of sleeping in this late. I stretched gingerly and winced with the extension of my legs, feeling as though I had been beaten from within— which, I supposed, I had. I lay there and stared at the ceiling, thinking.

Strangely, I did not feel panicked, or even regretful. I was no longer a maiden. This was a fact that was better met head-on, and there was certainly no denying it. I had done what I had done, and there was no taking it back; in fact, I did not wish to. If I was to be trapped in a tepid marriage for the rest of my life, at least I would have one memory, one night in my mind to fall back on. 

Even just the memory of the kiss on the staircase was enough to send a hot chill down my spine. He’d been so forceful, so eager. The king, I reminded myself. The king, pressing and eager for me. But I had been pressing and eager myself, had I not? Lord, had I really confessed my dreams to him? 

And so I explored my memories and all of my senses, inch by inch, until I was blushing again under the weight of his bed covers. I tucked his words away carefully. Words were easy to remember, even if sensations were not...

_“May I tell you how beautiful you are? I feel as though I shall break in two, if I do not…”_

He thought I was beautiful. I could not help but grin at the ceiling. If I never had another suitor again, I thought, I would at least know that the King of Rohan had desired me...

_“You are—oh, I want you so badly I can hardly think!”_

And it only became more illicit from there, something I would have never thought possible—

_“You are so tight—so beautiful—”_

At this remembrance I pulled the covers over my head once more, and stayed there until my face stopped burning. In any case, he had certainly lived up to his reputation. It was ironic, really— he had shaken and thrilled me, and was I not supposed to be the one servicing him?

_Next time_ , came the thought— and here, I forced myself to stop.

After a moment, I rose and splashed my face, trying to ignore the throbbing between my thighs. I would have to wash off later— the idea of doing it here and now, in his basin, was far too personal to consider. There was a tray on the table, holding breakfast. I gave the porridge a stir, and laughed aloud at the pot of honey. Honey, which had taken such a new meaning for me in the past several days… I tilted it against the light, examining the color, and replaced it on the table with a smile. I would have to tell him of all my creative ideas…

But no. I would not tell him, for today marked a week in the city— a week in the tower, and the money I had been so focused on only days before would be in my hand by the afternoon.That was my goal, the reason that I was here.

I ate quickly, hardly noticing my nudity, and tried hard not to think of what would come next. When, I wondered, had thinking practically become such a challenge for me? I had always thought myself fairly adept at it, and now—

_“In all of Arda— what have you done to me?”_

Yes, I thought wryly— what, indeed?

I did not even consider the obvious problem of my dress until I picked it up to put it on, and found myself staring at it, open-mouthed. Yes, he _had_ ripped it, ripped it right off of me in his haste to get at me…

The fabric hung, torn cleanly but already fraying at the edges. I turned the dress, assessing the damage— it was only the back, the front was perfectly fine. Perhaps, if I put it on and relied on the sleeves to keep it up, I could get back to the tower unnoticed. In any case, I did not have much of a choice, for I had nothing else with me, and I quickly dismissed the idea of pawing through Éomer’s wardrobe uninvited. Not only was I not comfortable doing it, but any shirt of his was bound to hang down to my knees.

In the end, I stepped into the dress and pulled it on, dragging the limp sleeves up my shoulders and turning to examine myself in the glass. It was perfectly fine from the front, but from the back— I winced. I didn't even have a pin to secure the top with, and the split halves fell in opposite directions, leaving my back bare from shoulders to waist. There was nothing to be done. If I met anyone, I would just have to hope that they only saw my front.

I made the bed as best I could, pulling the heavy covers up to the pillows and smoothing the quilt. The empty tray I left by the door. With that, and a hasty taming of my hair, I crept out onto the landing.

The spiral staircase was mercifully empty, and I crept down it with the unsettling feeling of air on my bare back. If I _did_ meet someone, I was sure that my guilty expression would give me away immediately. Luckily, I did not have to test this theory, for the corridor was empty as well; I felt like a child again, trying to sneak back to my room from the roof before my father caught me. I had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity. Somehow, I suspected that my father would be less forgiving of this particular wrong.

I walked as quickly as I could without running and reached the door of the tower in less than ten minutes. I eyed the handle, listening warily. The landing itself was empty, but that was no guarantee of the interior. And here, I thought ruefully, was another obstacle I had failed to consider: I would have to reach the staircase in the corner, and could not very well inch my way along the wall to get there. And had thirty women not seen me leave with the king? So much for remaining inconspicuous! 

I bit my lip, still staring at the door with a pounding heart, and conscious of the fact that every second I waited was another second someone might come along. I would have to be brave. There was nothing else for it.

And before I could think about it any harder, I grasped the handle and swung the door open, my feet moving forward as soon as there was room to do so.

My stomach dropped, and so did my eyes. By Anárion! Was this a welcoming committee? The room was as full as I had ever seen it, and some choice oaths ran through my mind in rapid succession. My legs had carried me nearly halfway across the room already, and with every step it felt like more heads were turning. I could feel the blush beginning to spread across my neck, and kept my gaze down. It was with a thrill of horror that I saw Cwenhilde by a window, and prayed that she would not catch my eye; but even as I thought it, she was turning, and oh, here came the staircase, and they would all see—

I practically ran up the steps, feeling as though my skin would burn right off. I could feel all the eyes upon me, and, though it may have been my imagination, I thought I heard a few gasps. The ruined flaps of my dress flopped pointlessly with every step, my bare skin tingling under such scrutiny. One, two, three more steps, then the door, and then—

I yanked it shut behind me and flew down the hall, now channeling my feelings through some exclamations I _knew_ my father would not have forgiven. I unlocked my door in a fumble and wrenched it open, desperate for privacy— and, seeing the note on the table, snatched it up at once with a pounding heart. It was dated the night previous.

_For when you return—_

_Tomorrow marks one week of your stay. Your salary will be downstairs on the drawing table (the girls will help you find it, this is our usual way).  
King Éomer was asking after a certain dark-haired lady, and it seems that he found her. My girl, dare I say— congratulations?_

_Mildrithia_

Downstairs!

I walked around the room, picking things up and putting them down, and swearing until my vocabulary exhausted itself.

* * *

There were several things I knew I must confront that I did not want to think about. I paced around my room for a long time, doing what I could to organize my thoughts and be reasonable.

My original plan, first and foremost, had been to remain inconspicuous, take the salary, and depart for home on horseback with only the bare necessities. The first step of this, of course, I had mangled. But that did not mean that the other two steps were useless, did it? The only thing that had changed between then and now was that the king had bedded me, and was that not my job here? It would have been far _more_ conspicuous to refuse to go with him. Just as Mildrithia had promised, my means back to Dol Amroth were ready to be claimed— the only obstacle was the small feat of going downstairs without dying of embarrassment.

The sooner I left, the better. I did not trust myself at all with what I might do if I thought of that man too much. And so I would go, I thought, making a sharp turn in my pacing— I would go, because every night would bring the chance of seeing Éomer again. I would be brave once more, and turn my steps back downstairs because I had to, and if I was laughed and stared at, it didn’t matter. I would be gone by tomorrow.

And so I took my maps from the drawer and set them on the desk, the travel map on top; Anya’s homespun dress, I pulled from the wardrobe and laid across the chair. I would steal nothing from Mildrithia, not even the hairpins she had given me, and if I had to braid my hair back and tie it in a knot, then so be it.

It was only now that I allowed myself to relax, and stepped out of the torn gown to wash. My body ached— my waist, my hips, between my legs. Even my breasts were tender, and, if I looked closely, I could see the light red marks where his beard had scratched me. My nipples hardened at the sight, and even that sensation was nearly painful.

I dressed in one of the better gowns and combed my hair, telling myself repeatedly that no matter what had happened, it did not really matter; and, by the time I was ready to retrieve my pay, I almost believed it.

Back out the door, down the hall, and then to the top of the stairs. I descended into the tower slowly, holding my breath and praying that the crowd had thinned.

It had. The room was far from empty, but now I could see the source of the throng— it was the drawing table, which was covered in purses. Of course— I was not the only woman who wanted her money.

I drew lots of curious glances, and tried not to make eye contact too much. It was the table I was after, and so I made for it directly, thinking that if I could only get that purse, I would be home free. I had nearly reached it when Cwenhilde drew up beside me.

“Riel!” She took my elbow. I looked at her reluctantly— and was startled to see the concern in her face.

“What is it?”

“Are you alright, then?” She gave me a quick once-over. “I was worried, you ran through here as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I said, startled. “No damage done.”

“Good,” she said, and relaxed; then she straightened and looked at me suspiciously. “Why did you come flying through here like that, then?”

“Well,” I said, flustered, “well, you saw my dress—”

“The back?” she asked. “Riel, you are hardly the first woman ever to return to this tower with a ripped dress.”

She said this matter-of-factly, and I stared at her.

“Oh. No, I suppose not.”

“I thought he did it very neatly, all things considered,” she said, and looked at me sideways, mouth twitching like she was trying not to smile. I brought a hand to my face, grinning in spite of myself.

“You are wicked.”

“I?” she said, enjoying it. “Nay— I am a curious, concerned friend. Oh Riel, may I ask?”

“Yes,” I smiled, my hand now over my eyes. “I suppose you had better.”

“You are a jewel,” she declared, and followed me over to the nearest sofa. “I will not pry, but—”

“Perhaps you ought to get Hilla,” I suggested. “Something tells me she might want to hear this, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” she agreed, and whisked off to the stairs.

And so the three of us sat together, and I answered (most of) their questions. There was a good deal of giggling and blushing. I had certainly never planned to tell anyone about such things, but it was surprisingly freeing to talk to them.

“Oh, I remember when Edsel ripped my dress, once,” Cwenhilde was saying dreamily— Hilla rolled her eyes at me, and I covered a smile. “He’d been away _so_ long— that’s when it’s the very best, you know.”

“When they’re away?”

“When they come back. But it’s not worth having him gone, I confess.”

“You should have heard her when they first met,” Hilla told me, and I had to laugh. “She talked about his green eyes for _weeks_.”

“And I still could,” Cwenhilde said stoutly. “I resist out of regard for you.”

“I could likely do the same with Éomer,” I said. “Have you seen his eyes?”

“No,” they both said at once. “What color are they?”

“Like honey. And they were almost brown when he—well—”

“Oh, you got a front-row seat!” Hilla sighed. “You lucky woman.”

I was inclined to agree, and we carried on in this manner for some time.

I was just beginning to feel that I really ought to get back upstairs— for afternoon was fading into early evening— when the tower door swung open, and the room quieted. Both men and women had been coming and going, but this stillness was new. We all looked up.

My king stood there in the doorway.

His handsomeness caught me off guard all over again, and I stared at him as his eyes swept the room. When they landed upon me, he began to make his way towards us.

Hilla turned to me, beaming. “Riel—!”

My heart was already hammering. “He’s really there, then?”

“Yes,” Cwenhilde confirmed. “You have about ten seconds.”

And then, just like the night before, he was in front of us, and I was staring up at him with my heart in my throat.

He inclined his head. “I see I am disturbing you all for the second night in a row.”

“Not at all,” Cwenhilde said quickly, standing and tugging Hilla with her. “I have stitchery I would have your help with, Hilla. Come.”

And, winking at me, they vacated the room faster than I could even wish them goodnight.

“Efficient,” he raised his dark eyebrows at me. “Becoming better acquainted, _morgensteorra_?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to ignore the melting in my chest. “Oh, my lord—”

I felt like a madwoman. I could not believe the galloping of my own heartbeat, nor the overwhelming urge to smile at him, to tease him. Had we really kissed the night before?

“My lady,” he answered, and held his hand out from where he stood. “Will you walk with me?”

I looked up at him desperately. What I needed to do was go back upstairs, change my gown, visit the evening market, and then wait for nightfall by the stables.

Instead, I stood.

“Yes, of course.”

He took my hand and kissed it, his eyes never leaving my face. “I confess, I did not mean to come back so soon, but you have invaded my mind. Have you thought of me?”

How was I ever to resist such bluntness? If there was a way, I did not know it.

“Yes, my lord— of course I have.”

He smiled. “You made my bed— I thank you.”

I was passing him through the door, and looked up at him. He was trying not to laugh.

“You’re mocking me,” I complained. “I only yanked up the blanket.”

“Still— my thanks. How is your bruise?”

I could not help but laugh. “My bruise? My lord, if you are concerned with my health, there are sorer parts you could inquire after.”

At this he actually flushed, and I grinned, secretly delighted.

“By Béma, woman.”

“I do not complain,” I said, and reached up boldly to tug him down and kiss his cheek. He accepted it, and planted one of his own upon me. The scratch of his beard tingled pleasantly.

“Spring has come,” he declared— it was his turn to be roguish. “It is on the hills, and on your cheeks.”

I ducked my head, trying not to blush myself. “Thank you, my lord. If I have gone from bud to blooming, it is because of you.”

“Certainly not,” he said roughly. “I would not presume to take credit for such a thing. But _you_ must take credit for my distraction today. My advisors will be after my head soon.”

“Certainly not,” I echoed. “And if they were, I could trust you to beat them off, could I not?”

“Oh, indeed,” he agreed, now grinning himself. “For if I did not, how would I see you again?”

I laughed now, joyful and incredulous. “You are jesting with me.”

“No,” he said decisively. “I am not.”

I had just opened my mouth again when there came the sound of footsteps down the hall ahead of us.

“—been distracted all day—”

“— _no_ idea where he went?”

Éomer swore and glanced around— the next moment, he was pulling me behind a tapestry and into an alcove. I nearly toppled into him and threw my hands up to steady myself, bracing myself against his chest.

“What—?”

He held a finger to his lips, and the footsteps turned the corner towards us. As I listened, his arms came silently around me.

“Perhaps he went out for a ride.”

“He hasn’t. Firefoot is still in the stables.”

“Well, then.”

My ear was pressed to the center of his chest, and I listened to his heartbeat, remembering how wild it had been the night before. It was quick, now, but steady, and my own arms went around his waist as we waited. He smelled of soap and leather.

“Well, it’s almost dinner anyway. Really too late, now, to reconvene…”

“Hard-headed man!”

We were still as the footsteps passed, listening to them dying away down the corridor. I turned my chin to smile up at him, my hair falling down my back in a wave.

“Hard-headed?”

“My advisors,” he chuckled, one arm tightening around my waist, the other going to stroke my hair. “Not very reverent, but I cannot blame them. I may have left my audiences early this evening.”

“You are a benevolent king,” I teased, and closed my eyes at his touch.

“Ay, perhaps. But I have no regard for falsehoods. If they are to call me hard-headed, who am I to argue?”

And he bent his head to kiss me, the press of his lips almost casual. Oh, we were becoming far too familiar with each other already— but my body had a mind of its own, and I found my hands gripping his shoulders, not allowing him to pull away. He bent his head further, sliding his mouth more deeply across mine, and my nerves sang.

“Oh, _morgensteorra_ ,” he sighed, and pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine “You know not what you do.”

“On the contrary,” I said, a bit breathless,“I know exactly what I do, Éomer, and I shall do it until you kiss me again.”

I saw the pleasure in his eyes at my use of his name, the way I knew that I would— and he lowered his face to mine again without another word.

His lips were warm and firm, and moved slowly. I met each press of his mouth in a push and pull, and we breathed the same air, waiting. His arms were not desperate, but held me tightly against his hard body, where I could feel his arousal beginning to stir. It was for me that it happened, and it excited me.

He sank onto the bench in the corner, pulling me onto his lap, and I held his face in my hands as he kissed me. I’d not forgotten my thought of servicing him more next time, and so shifted my mouth from his lips to his bearded cheek, and then to his ear. He shuddered under my breath; and when I pressed my lips to the lobe and brushed upwards, a deep sigh left him.

“How can you be finding all my weaknesses so quickly?” 

“Instinct, my lord,” I breathed. “Do you wish me to stop?”

He laughed lowly, and the sound vibrated straight through me. “Wicked woman. You know I do not.”

I _did_ know. I remembered his reaction from before, and when my tongue brushed the top of his ear, he stiffened beneath me; and I repeated the light strokes down to his pulse until he was drawing rapid breaths, hands squeezing at my waist. He tasted of the outdoors, like salt and fresh air. I did not stop, but kissed down to his collarbone before shifting to straddle his lap, turning his face in my hands to repeat the process on his other side. He sighed, gasped, and I felt his hardness growing larger still beneath me.

“I begin to doubt you,” he murmured, eyes closed. “For you surely are a skilled woman.”

I was again delighted, and smiled into my kiss of his clothed shoulder. “Then I have only ever been skilled for you.”

His shoulders tensed and he opened his eyes to look at me, hands tightening around my waist. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to mine— and then his hips were rolling slowly beneath me, up against me.

“Oh—”

I breathed sharply into his kiss, feeling as though something heavy had dropped into my stomach. When he moved again, pressing his hard length between my legs, the weight burned— it was the desperate emptiness, the need to take him inside of me.

“Are you very sore, Riel?” he asked lowly. It did not sound like concern— it sounded like a seduction.

“Yes,” I gasped, as he rolled his hips up into me once more. “And I would have you make me sorer.”

The fact that we were in the middle of a public corridor and protected only by a flimsy tapestry was seeming less and less important. At my words, he kissed me hard, lifting me by the waist— his trousers were tugged undone, my skirts shoved aside.

He sprang against his stomach at once, even thicker than I remembered, and sore though I was, my body tightened at the sight. I had to have him. Now.

I had not touched him yet, but wanted to— and, telling myself to be brave, I straddled his thighs on the bench and reached between us to wrap my hand around him.

His head fell back, golden hair spilling, hands tightening on my waist. When I moved, first a tentative stroke and then the beginning of a slow, steady rhythm, the breath flew from him in one harsh pant.

It was at once foreign, strange, and wonderful— he was soft but hard, so hot and so huge beneath my fingers. I leaned forward and pressed kisses to his exposed neck, dripping with want for him.

“Your creation must have taken some time,” I said, and brought down his chin with my other hand to kiss him hard on the lips. “For you surely are a masterpiece.”

He seemed unable to speak— and I shifted forward, took him by the base, and slowly, slowly, began to sink down onto him.

Oh, it stung, and reinflamed the pain from the night before; but it was bliss, too, and I did not withdraw, but pushed my hips still downwards, forcing myself to open around him. The slickness of my body eased it, slid against him, and I saw his jaw clench. When our hips met and I was completely full with him, I pressed down farther still, grinding against him, just to see how far I could go. I whimpered— it hurt, but in such a way that I longed for the pain again.

“And so I am whole again,” I breathed, easing up off of him. “Even just since last night, I have missed you.”

“And I, you,” he murmured back. Then his hands were on my hips, and half through his help and half through instinct, I began to move against him.

“Oh—”

It was a completely different sensation, being on top of him— the sheer size of him pressed me from the inside with every movement. With each slow roll of my hips, he dragged along my front wall and struck the very heart of me. 

“The way you welcome me—”

And then he was kissing me, his body rocking deep inside of mine. We gasped into each other, my hands on his shoulders, his on my waist. Even as I felt that I could not take him deeper, it seemed that every thrust brought us together harder, closer.

The pace was agonizingly slow. The desperation of the night before had dissolved into something deeper, and every stroke brought a burst of dark, penetrating pleasure, forced to ring out until the next one struck. I was open-mouthed, staring into his eyes, my body squeezing— he stared back, and gradually began to grip me harder, taking the reins from me. His pace was no faster, but slid into me somehow deeper still; and I arched on top of him with the effort to remain quiet, holding my breath until I feared I would faint.

“Come—” he said, and tugged me forward. My head was pulled down onto his shoulder, and I bit into the fabric there just as he withdrew his whole length and slid back into me with a jerk.

“ _Mmph!_ ”

It was punishing, and he did not stop, nor did he speed up. Slow stroke after slow stroke found my deepest center, and he murmured to me, telling me how incredible I felt. This time when he reached between us and under my skirts, I knew what he meant to do, and would have begged him to stop, could I have spoken— but I could not, and as he slammed into me, his fingers skimmed the place that threatened to make me fall apart. 

My body heaved, my throat burned, and I clenched my teeth into the fabric of his shirt, clamping my eyes shut. It was the sharpest pleasure and pain, and building so slowly from the inside that I feared the magnitude of its breaking. And still he thrust up into me, his hand maddeningly light upon me, and I knew that I was beginning to make noises even the shirt could not cover.

It began so deeply that I was afraid it would not happen, even as I prayed to be spared— but it did not stop, and neither did he. Each hard stroke became a claim upon my life, and still his hand moved between us, and I did not want it to happen even as I died from the fear it may not. I could not breathe, and doubted it even as it broke over me, a strangled moan buried into his shoulder, breath ripping through my lungs. For it was happening, and I climaxed around him so hard that I could not see. The relief was so great I nearly wept.

He helped me through it, his arms around me as he filled me again and again— and then he was following, gasping out my name as I shook and fell apart on top of him.

He pulled out of me, and I let my skirts fall, clinging to his neck. We were both breathing heavily, and then we were kissing, his arms around me and mine around him, hot pleasure still reverberating between us.

It was a very long time before we broke apart. When we did, he smiled at me, and I felt as though I would crumble from the inside out.

“I will speak more carefully next time.” He grasped my hand, pressing his bruised lips to the back of it. “It seems you _do_ know.”

“Just when I think I do,” I breathed, “you prove me wrong once more.”

And we kissed again, warm and languid in each other’s arms. My hand went to spread over his heart, and he put his own up to cover it— our fingers tangled.

“This is very dangerous,” he murmured against my mouth.

“Do you think so?”

“I do,” he said, and massaged my palm with his thumb. “Don’t you?”

And I knew exactly what he meant— in fact, I understood more completely than he knew.

“Yes,” I said truthfully, and pressed yet another kiss to his lips.

* * *

Later, alone in my room, I stared out over the Mark for a long time. It was not so very late— just barely dark— and the half-moon shone clear and bright. There on the table were my maps, just as I had left them that afternoon. Next to them was the purse of money from downstairs.

I paced, stinging with every step. It was not too late— I could still go. I moved to the table, picking up the sealed travel map and setting it back down again. I walked to the window once more. I knew where the kitchens were, by now. There were no markets this late, but I could take the food from Meduseld’s stores and leave the money for the servants to find. It was cold tonight, and both the tower room and the streets of Edoras were empty. There was nothing standing in my way. Nothing at all.

I moved to the table once more and picked up the envelope, turning it over and over in my hands. For a moment, I was still, simply staring at it— and then I placed it in the drawer and locked it, dropping the key into my pocket.


	5. To the Winds

I woke the next morning in an absurdly good mood. I had no right to bounce out of bed and smile while dressing, but I did so, and nearly laughed when I flung open the curtains to the bright spring sunshine. I knew that my problems had not vanished, and that I would have to address them at some point; but I did not have to address them today, and that was good enough for me.

I ate, hardly noticing what I was doing, and found myself pacing to and fro around the room, first sitting on the bed, and then striding to the window. I was as sore as I had ever been— worse, even, than my first long journey on horseback— and the ache shot through me with every step. I was surprised to find I did not mind it. In fact, it served as an excuse to begin thinking of how and why it got there, at which point I would leap to my feet and begin pacing again, grinning like a fool.

Spending all day in my room, which I had done so complacently the week before, suddenly seemed inconceivable. I found myself peeking down the hallway, trying to gauge how full the tower was, before I shook myself out of it. What was there, really, to be afraid of now? A different man asking for me? I could, of course, just say no— and, after two consecutive nights with the king, who would blame me?

In any case, I was itching for company, feeling that I simply must talk to someone about what had happened to me, or explode. I descended the staircase around noon, telling myself not to creep about like a fugitive. I had a place here now. 

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The tower room was largely empty, with the fine weather beckoning most of its occupants outside. I spotted Cwenhilde and Hilla, however, tucked into a sunny corner, and went over to them.

“...in just over a week,” Cwenhilde was saying, hands picking at her skirt. 

“I know. But they won’t be gone long, Cwenhilde, not nearly as long as last time. It’s more for appearances than anything else.”

I hung back for a moment, uncertain, but Hilla had spotted my approach and motioned me over.

“Morning, Riel. You are up early.”

“Hardly,” I snorted, and made my way over to the chair beside them. “The sun has been warm for hours.”

“Yes,” Hilla agreed, “but you are nocturnal. I haven’t seen you downstairs before nightfall until now.”

I made a mental note— I would have to be warier of Hilla’s powers of observation.

“I could not sit still.” I looked at Cwenhilde, who seemed unhappy— she had only smiled in greeting before returning to her fidgeting. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “Just wasting my energy, fretting about Edsel.”

I sat up straighter at once. “What’s he done?”

She laughed then, tossing her fiery hair beneath the window, and I relaxed a bit. “It’s not him,” she reassured me, smiling slightly. “You ought to see your expression… he should be glad you are unarmed.”

I grinned and tried to wipe my features of any violent intent. “I’m sorry. What troubles you, then?”

“It’s silly, really. He’s only going out on a patrol… you’d think I would know by now not to worry.”

“Wasn’t he part of the group that returned last week?” I asked, and patted her hand. “He’s young and strong, Cwenhilde. He’ll be alright.”

“No doubt you are right,” she said, and Hilla nodded. “Besides, this patrol will be far less dangerous than those they usually undertake. You see, there has been word from Gondor of a missing traveler.”

My hand stilled in hers. “Oh?”

She nodded. “A princess, in fact— from Dol Amroth, on the coast. She was meant to arrive some time ago, and now the king has received word of her disappearance upon the Mark. They suspect bandits.”

“ _Just_ her disappearance?” Hilla asked, bending over to thread a needle. “Or were there others from her party?”

“Just her, according to Edsel. It’s very strange.”

I was now trying to look anywhere but their faces, while Hilla counted stitches.

“Perhaps she ran off.”

“Why would a princess run off on the Riddermark, Hilla?”

Hilla shrugged. “I could think of reasons. For love, perhaps— to meet someone. Or perhaps she got tired of meeting so many expectations. I suspect I would.”

Cwenhilde shrugged, looking unconvinced. “They’re off to look for her, as soon as the patrol is set. There doesn’t seem to be a favorable chance of finding her, though— she has been gone for a week already.”

“Strange,” I agreed, my throat dry. I didn’t dare look at either one of them, fearing against all reason that they would see the truth in my eyes immediately if I did. “I’m sure he’ll be alright. What is a bandit to an Eorling?”

Cwenhilde smiled. “You are right, of course, and he would go mad if he knew I was worrying myself over such things. And speaking of Eorlings, Riel…”

I colored, but smiled. “What of them?”

“You know what,” Hilla smirked, while Cwenhilde laughed. “How is our honey-eyed Lord Éomer?”

“Vigorous,” I replied truthfully, and they both laughed harder. “Nay, I mean it.”

“No doubt,” Hilla agreed, now cutting her thread with her teeth. “A fine woman never hurt a man’s energy.”

I bit my lip, suddenly shy at this assessment, and she grinned. “Twice in the space of two days? That may be a record for our king, this year.”

“Definitely,” Cwenhilde agreed. “He has many claims upon his time. You must have truly caught his attention.”

“I suppose I’ve been lucky,” I flushed, and tugged at the hem of my sleeve. “He has certainly caught mine.”

I looked up in time to see them exchange a knowing glance, and flushed hotter— it was rather like having two older, more experienced sisters.

“It has only been twice, after all,” I muttered, going back to my sleeve. “There is every chance he will not return.”

“He will,” Hilla said at once.

“How can you be sure? When he is not in front of me I cease to believe it..”

“He will,” Cwenhilde echoed— it was her turn to pat my hand. “I saw how he looked at you, Riel. He is a busy man, but he will return.”

I smiled at them, forcing down the knot of confusing feelings in my stomach. “Thank you. I’m being silly, I know.”

“Not at all,” said Hilla, while Cwenhilde shook her head.

“You cannot deny yourself like this— you are permitted to feel as you do. This job is not simple. You have a duty to uphold, but you are still a human woman with your own emotions and wants, Riel.”

I was grateful, then, as grateful as I had ever been in my life— when was the last time I had been told such a thing?

“It was just the same with me,” Cwenhilde continued. “Some things cannot be denied, and Edsel was one of them.”

“Was he your first here, too?” I asked, sitting forward— my accidental eavesdropping the week before had made me very curious, but I’d been too shy to pry.

She shook her head. “Oh, no. I have been here a rather long time. Nearly ten years.”

“Ten years,” I repeated, trying to hide my surprise. “When did you begin, then?”

“I was nineteen,” she said, smiling slightly. “And a bit naïve, I might add. I have had many friends here over the years, many men who cared for me, and I for them… but none in the way I care for Edsel.”

“How did you meet?”

“It’s rather wicked, actually,” she said, a—to my further surprise—giggled. “Seven years ago, there was an older Eorling who, I fear, wanted to marry me quite badly. He wished to take me to his family farm, and I couldn’t bring myself to deny him. Well, I met some of his kin there, including a young stableboy with green eyes— his nephew.”

“Oh, you didn’t!” I gasped. “Edsel?”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled. “He was too young then— only fifteen— for me to pay much attention. But he grew significantly in the five years before he joined the Rohirrim and came to the Cempestran for the first time.”

“And did you recognize him at once?”

“No— but he recognized me, and came over to me directly. He claims he did not intend to seduce me, but in the end it didn’t matter much.”

“And his uncle?”

“Long since passed, rest his soul. A good man.”

All three of us were quiet for a moment, both the sun and her story warming us. I longed to know whether they meant to marry, but didn’t dare ask for fear of receiving a negative answer. For a rider, twenty-two was still quite young.

“And so you see,” Cwenhilde resumed, a devilish twinkle in her eye, “patience is very important, Riel. I waited nearly a decade for love to find me. Do you think you can wait a day or two for the king to return?”

“A day?” I exclaimed, throwing a hand across my forehead. “Oh, surely, I will perish before then!”

And we all collapsed into giggles.

But patience was easier claimed than attained, and when my friends departed the tower for the evening, I resorted to pacing my rooms again. Oh, what did Cwenhilde mean, when she said that she’d seen how he looked at me? _How_ did he look at me? The pain between my legs stung now only when I moved, and so I made a point to move.

And that had been far from the only interesting exchange. Go on, I told myself. You don’t want to think about it, but that does not mean it that didn’t happen.

_“You see, there has been word from Gondor of a missing traveler.”_

Me. It was me, that they spoke of— something that was already too easy to forget. I was hiding in plain sight, and inconveniencing the men I was supposed to service. How could I make peace with myself, when Cwenhilde was worrying about Edsel going to search for me? When Éomer himself was being pressed by Dol Amroth?

I swore, more out of distress than anything. I was irritated, not only because of my own tangled predicament, but because I could not stop wondering if he was thinking of me.

In the end, I drew a washbasin and shucked off all my clothes, longing for something to do. There, I found an excuse for my moodiness: blood. My monthly had begun. It was with some annoyance, but mostly with relief, that I cleaned myself off and padded my nightgown— it would not do well to be with child and further complicate an already mad situation.

I spent the remainder of the evening wondering if Éomer would appear and knock on my door. He did not. It was for the best, really, I told myself, staring out at the now-purple sky beyond the window. What a shame it would be, to moon after him all day only to have to refuse him when he finally appeared. It would be a week, though… would he come tomorrow? The next day? Would it be a fortnight before I saw him again? It certainly wasn’t out of the question.

I turned over grumpily, mind full of expectations and patrols. If he was not thinking of Riel, then perhaps he would be thinking of Dol Amroth’s Princess Lothíriel, and all the trouble she was currently causing him. That, I thought, eyes closing, would be some small victory.

* * *

It rained the next morning, and I woke with a throbbing back. The covers were warm, however, and I was quite content to remain abed, protected from the lashing wind and water. I roused only when Hilla knocked on my door, cajoling me downstairs in the late afternoon to take some lunch by the hearth. It was hearty food, the fire was crackling, and my body was aching— before long, I was nodding off to the sound of murmuring women, my back soothed by the squashy sofa.

I awoke under the heavy, wonderful feeling of a hand upon my hair. I did not lift my head but turned, murmuring— and there was a low laugh, and the hand stroked from crown to lower back once more.

“Are you still so tired?”

My stomach leapt at his voice, and my eyes opened. Éomer was grinning down at me, golden hair falling in curtains around his face.

I blinked, still half-asleep, confusion and elation clashing in my chest. “A dream?”

“No,” he chuckled, flushing, and moved his hand over my hair again. “Very real, I’m afraid.”

Slowly, our surroundings swam into view— the tower room was nearly empty, and he had seated himself by my head on the sofa. I closed my eyes once more, smiling. 

“Éomer.”

“Yes, _morgensteorra_?”

“Nothing,” I replied, still enjoying his touch and waking up slowly. “I just wished to say it.”

“I am a most lucky man, then. Would you, again?”

“I would likely do anything, my lord Éomer, if you continue with my hair in this way.”

“You are kind to give me a bit of ammunition,” he said, and tugged at the roots gently. “For I sorely need it.”

It felt heavenly, and for a moment I did not speak again, but drifted between waking and sleeping under his ministrations. His touch was solid, warm proof that he was there, and it sent vibrations through my aching body. It was only when his strokes slowed that I opened my eyes once more to find him gazing at me.

“It is a wonder that you can look at me thus, in this state,” I murmured. “My brothers tell me I drool.”

He laughed. “I did not notice. Indeed, there are other things I have been preoccupied with looking at.”

It was my turn to color, and, with an effort, I sat up. Things were finally becoming clear around the edges, and I was thirsty. I glanced at him, still unsure— was he truly real, then? It seemed so, and I reached out without thinking. He took my hand in his, and I could hardly help but notice that he had taken off his glove to stroke my hair. Every other piece of full armor remained in place.

“Are you back to the world of the living?” 

“Nearly. The hour...?”

“Almost six. The sky is still light.”

His hand was warm on mine, his thumb stroking over my wrist, and I felt I would never be able to look my fill of him. The golden air from the window seemed to cling to him, glowing through his hair and glinting off his breastplate. His face was as arresting as ever, and, as I watched, his dark brows lifted slightly.

“Why do you look at me so, my lady?”

“Because you are handsome,” I said. “And I’ve been thinking of you.”

Would I ever tire of making that tan face flush? I thought not. He brought a hand over his eyes, and when it was withdrawn, he was smiling ruefully.

“I have been thinking of you, too. Lord, you seem to make me twenty years old again.”

“That is not so bad, then,” I said, delighted. “For it is only fair.”

“Nay,” he said, “it is not fair at all.” And his bare fingers rose to my hair once more, massaging the nape of my neck until my eyes drifted closed.

“It is not fair at all,” I breathed, “that I have twice since said your name, then.”

“Forgive me, Riel,” he murmured. “Shall I say it again? It is only right.”

“Éomer—”

“Riel.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek, fingers contracting in the waves at the base of my neck. “I am sorry I did not see you yesterday. By the time I was free, it was far too late.”

My heart jumped. “You meant to come?”

He nodded, his hand slipping from my neck to the sore small of my back. “Yes. Did you wish me to?”

How could I ever return to the verbal acrobatics required by most suitors? How, after this?

“Yes,” I said. “And what I wish even more dearly is for you to press harder, just there.”

He did.

“You are a busy man, I know,” I murmured, leaning back into the pressure of his hand. “I am glad that you’ve come back at all.”

He looked somewhat affronted. “It was never a question. It is a confounded thing, when evening audiences run late.”

His gloved hand traveled to my shoulder, bracing me, and I allowed myself one shining moment of complete happiness. He was here, he was touching me— surely he cared, for why else would he say such things, wake me in such a way? Oh, it was strange and wonderful, to be so familiar with someone so quickly; to say only what came to my mind, and have it received so comfortably. Each piece of me, he had matched without restraint or struggle, and it both frightened and exhilarated me to wonder how far this matching would go. What if it did not stop, but continued straight down to the bone? What then?

With an effort, I focused on him. “It is not yet dinner. Should you not be with those audiences now?”

He grinned sheepishly, and I straightened up with a gasp.

“Éomer!”

“Oh, I rather like that, too,” he mused, his fingers still pressing circles into my back. “A bit scandalized. I will have to try and reproduce that tone.”

“Wicked man!” I grinned in spite of myself. “You cannot be shirking your duties for me!”

“Can’t I?”

He leaned in a bit closer, arm tightening around me, and I lost my breath at once. “You did not seem to mind so very much, a day ago…” His hand pressed me closer still, and his lips brushed my ear, warm and full. “Shall I remind you of what you said…?”

“No,” I squeaked. “I can remember well enough.”

“Hmm,” he rumbled— the vibration traveled through me, deep and ringing. His long hair brushed my chest as he leaned into me, and I could feel his smile against my ear. “And will I have the chance to hear it once more, this evening?”

I turned then, and looked at him, somewhat embarrassed. We were very close, and he looked back steadily, thick lashes blinking around his cat’s eyes.

“Oh, sir— I wish I could say yes, but— I fear it is the wrong time of the month for another hallway encounter.”

There was brief confusion, and then understanding; and thankfully, he did not drop my hand, but put his other to my back once more.

“‘Sir’, Riel? That is even worse than ‘my lord’.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” I said, and then blushed, and swore in spite of myself.

He only laughed and resumed his pressure on my back, his gaze traveling across the room and out the window. I was still red, I was sure, and his own handsome face showed no embarrassment. This both gratified and irked me. He was, no doubt, familiar with the habits of women— and, suddenly, I was accosted by images of him departing the tower with someone else.

I glanced at him. He appeared to be deep in thought, and I worried my lip, trying for all I was worth not to squirm. Oh, it was not fair, for me to desire fidelity from him! Not at all, not in any way. I took a deep breath.

“I will understand, if you—if you—”

“Hm?” He had clearly not been listening, and turned from the window back to me. “Do you feel alright, Riel?”

“My lord?”

“I would have you come anyway. If fate intends for me to be present in the audience hall, your company will surely soften the blow.”

I gaped at him.

“And you are a clever woman,” he continued, and stood, quite oblivious to my surprise. “Perhaps you could help me.”

I felt a bit overwhelmed, and stared up at him. Anárion, I could not sit at his side in public, not for a thousand reasons! And yet, could I really refuse his company, the very thing I had so longed for in the last day? And that he wanted me still, that he asked for me, praised me…

I threw caution to the winds.

“I would be honored, my lord,” I murmured, and stood beside him. “You will have a screen for me?”

“A screen?” He studied my face. “Ay, if you wish it.”

I bit my lip, looking back up at him, willing him to understand. “You honor me. I would not dishonor you.”

He shook his head. “You could not, Riel. There are far less honorable things than… this.”

* * *

“What think you?” Éomer murmured. “The sentence is six to nine months.”

“Six,” I whispered back. “He is young. Perhaps he will learn quickly.”

He sat forward. “Six months, in the _carcern_. Learn from this.”

He jerked his head, and the riders by the door stepped forward. The forger, for his part, made no protest— this was, indeed, a rather lenient sentence for half a dozen documents, and he allowed himself to be led away without a fuss.

I leaned back, exhaling, and glanced out the window. It was dark now— we had been in the audience hall for nearly an hour. My lord, I could tell, was growing antsy, and I had to suppress a chuckle at the rememberance that he had not wanted to come in the first place. I, on the other hand, had found it to be strangely absorbing work. With the conclusion of each case came the fear of boredom, but each time the hall doors opened and a new one began, I found myself sitting forwards again. 

“We are almost done, Riel,” Éomer murmured. “You may leave whenever you wish.”

“You have reminded me of that at least a dozen times already,” I whispered back, tapping the screen between us. “Perhaps it is you who wishes for a dismissal.”

I could see him grinning through the slats, the shade of the screen and the flickering torchlight throwing his profile into sharp relief. Though he could not turn his head and direct the smile at me, I knew I was the reason it was there.

“There can be no doubt about that.”

I grinned then, too. “We will be done soon. Take heart.”

As if on cue, there was a hush as the next case was brought in. I studied Éomer. His gaze was focused out over the hall, and, even from the side, I could see the bright warmth of his eyes.

He had quite impressed me tonight. If he wished to be finished, it came from a surplus of energy and not from disinterest. It was clear that he cared deeply for those under his authority, for he had doled out praise and punishment with great fairness. I, on the other hand, had demonstrated less meritable self-control. He’d asked my opinion far more than I’d expected, and, each time, I swore to feign ignorance of courtly matters, to conceal my knowledge of law and judgement. I’d failed spectacularly. If I felt capable of helping him, I was powerless not to open my big, blundering mouth.

“Look out the window,” he murmured, turning his goblet around and around by the stem. “The clouds have gone. Do you see the stars?”

“Yes,” I whispered back— even through the slats, their twinkling was visible. “It’s quite clear, now.”

“My lord!”

The parties had assembled, and a hush fell over the hall once more. Éomer sat up straighter, attuned, and the scribe began the account. My eyes skimmed over the group, searching for the perpetrator, and I felt a lurch when I found him— a man, with black hair and light eyes. Was this the first fellow citizen of Gondor I had seen in Edoras?

“...upon his sale of the stolen trawler, he fled Dol Amroth—” I started, hard— “and passed through the borders of Rohan, under a false name. I am told that the cargo sold off would have fed the family for the remainder of the season.”

An angry hiss traveled through the spectators, and Éomer’s jaw set. I, however, was pressing my face against the screen to look at the man. Mercifully, I did not recognize him; but, upon closer inspection, I could see telltale signs of who he was. The short hair of a sailor, the suntanned olive skin, the knife scar below iron-gray eyes. This was a dock rat from the coast, from _my_ city. Criminal though he was, simply the sight of someone that looked like me was something of a relief. 

“Have you any defense of yourself?” Éomer demanded, and the man lifted his head. The disdain in his eyes was visible even from a distance.

“I have no defense. I do not repent.”

Another angry murmur rippled around the hall.

“No?” Éomer demanded. “This is all true, then? You do not deny it?”

The thief said nothing, only looked back across the hall. 

“Silence is equivalent to consent, man. Do you feel nothing for the family you have all but ruined?”

More silence. When he turned away, the whispers exploded tenfold, anger buzzing in the air.

“He ought to be punished by the laws of his homeland,” Éomer muttered to me. “The sentence for commandeering is harsher on the coast.”

“And plundering,” I whispered back. “That would be counted as a separate offense.”

He did not swivel to look at me, but began the motion— it became a jerk of the head, instead, and I longed to clout myself. _You have given too much away tonight already!_

“You are right,” he murmured, amber eyes fixed on the angry faces around the hall. “Nine months together, I think.”

I bit my lip. Both sentences would total at two years. Certainly he knew that?

“I believe it may be longer,” I whispered. “I am not sure.”

He nodded and sat forward, fixing his eyes on the sailor. “You are guilty on more than one count. You came here under false pretenses, and deceived the good people around you. That alone is enough, but your cowardice in crossing the border, hoping that the sentence for your crimes might be lighter, is despicable.”

He stood. “Two years. As would befit a Gondorian pirate. Be grateful it isn’t more.” He turned his gaze to his scribe. “We are done for the night. That will be all.”

And then, as if he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he swept behind the screen, took my hand, and pulled the both of us out the side door as the crowd began to break up.

“My lord!” I laughed, but allowed myself to be tugged along through the dark— his hand was warm under mine, sending heat up my arm. “You ought to slow down. They will think you can’t wait to escape.”

“Let them think it, then. I have scarcely lifted my head from my desk for two years, and now adventure has come back into my life.”

The sky was black after the bright light of the hall, its cold stars like stitches of silver. The quiet was sudden and all-encompassing. The only sound was the hum of crickets and the echo of our footsteps. 

“It has rained tonight,” I said, and stopped before a puddle— and, before I could protest, he’d scooped me into his arms and was carrying me down the wet alley.

“Nay, put me down! I can walk—”

“Ay, and ruin your shoes,” he smirked down at me; I couldn’t help but relax against his cold breastplate. “It is nothing to me, so you ought to let me help.”

I could not stop my head from falling back in a laugh, my hair tumbling over his arm. “Oh, yes? Are you to seduce me like this, through breadth and strength?”

He raised his dark eyebrows, smiling. “And has it not worked, so far?”

I laughed again, and gave him a swat. “Yes, it’s worked, but you may put me down now, anyway.”

We had reached the main street, and he set me down on the darkly shining cobblestones. 

“Very well. Stubborn woman.”

And then he pulled me into a kiss, and I gripped his arm, standing on my toes. 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said, as we turned and began down the quiet street. “You were a great help.”

I stiffened inside. “It was my pleasure, my lord. You are a just king.”

“I thank you, again. I am trying. At times it feels as though the recent years have been a blur, and at times I am sure I could describe each day in excruciating detail.”

I looked up at him as we walked. His face was in shadow.

“Something less free than your younger years, I’d imagine.”

“There is more paperwork,” he conceded. “But the true changes lie in the faces around me, both present and absent.”

“War has changed us all,” I agreed. “I have seen it.”

I looked up at him again, not wanting to press but hoping he would continue— and, after a moment, he did.

“My uncle,” he said quietly. “Théoden, a king of the Mark, who raised me as his own. He is gone. And Eowyn… my sister. She has gone to Ithilien.”

I was sure I’d heard these names before, in my father’s dining room, no doubt— but it was far different to hear them in Éomer’s voice, when his face was dark with suppressed sorrow. I took his arm as he continued.

“Countless men, Riel, all gone. Brothers in arms, whom I shall never see again… I am lucky indeed, to be here and do paperwork.”

He glanced at me, maybe to gauge my reaction, and I nodded. “And I am glad, indeed, to hear that your sister has gone only to Ithilien.”

“Yes,” he said darkly, “thought it was very nearly more. She has married a good man, and I do not complain— only, I miss her. When she is gone, and with my uncle since passed… I have been alone, for some time.”

And he looked down at me, and I looked up at him, and unsaid words hung between us.

“I am lucky,” I said. “I have three brothers. Our house is never quiet.”

He looked amused. “And do you never wish for female company?”

“Sometimes. But I have my— my friend Galenen for that.” I had very nearly told the truth, which was that Galenen, while being my friend, was also my maid. “But I have never truly wanted for company. You’ve been strong, to shoulder so much alone.”

“If I am strong,” he said roughly, “let me be strong for the Rohirrim— if I am strong, let me be strong for the people of Rohan.”

“And for foolish women,” I added, “to carry them over puddles when they wear the wrong shoes on a rainy night.”

“That goes without saying, _morgensteorra_.” He gathered me into his arms again, swinging me until I was breathless and laughing; and, when he stilled and pushed at my jaw, I tilted my head back to bare my neck. His warm lips and rough beard dragged across my sensitive skin, over and over until I shivered with it.

“Don’t you worry someone will see us?” I murmured, arms around his neck as he tilted my chin. “It’s not seemly, for a king to roam the streets at night with an unattached lady.”

He bit my skin lightly, and my breath hitched— the hot press of his mouth soon after made me shiver.

“Nay,” he whispered into my throat. “I am not worried. And I will decide what is unseemly for a king.”

His mouth found where my neck met my shoulder, and he bit again, light enough to caress, just hard enough to sting.

“Would you call yourself unattached, Riel?”

His soft lips pressed to the spot, working over my tingling skin, and I shuddered again.

“Unmarried, I should say.”

“Fox,” he growled. “I will have you out, in the end.”

I did not respond then, for he had begun kissing me again, this time on the mouth— and I had no desire for him to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> No sex in this one, but don’t worry. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming next week. 
> 
> If you like this, please drop me a comment! :)


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